Once In A Lifetime
by Flutiegal
Summary: Three-quel:Maurice & Kate.
1. Chapter 1

I squinted. Too bright.

A hospital room.

No tubes, no wires…that was good.

"Kate."

Brian?

He was in a chair next to the bed, and he leaned forward and grasped my right hand.

"You're awake."

"MOO." I snarked. Master Of the Obvious.

He tried to smile at that.

"What happened?" I asked.

He wasn't looking me in the eye. "You passed out."

"What aren't you telling me?" I asked sharply, starting to sit up. He put his hand on my shoulder to hold me still.

He glanced at me then down at the hand he was holding. "I really think-"

A woman I assumed was a doctor swept into the room, white coat flaring, followed by a nurse in black scrubs.

Black. That was weird.

No, I could see when she moved under the recessed lights that they were clearly dark blue.

The doctor couldn't seem to remain still and acted as though she was in an awful hurry, so her nametag was always obscured.

"What happened?" I asked again, a little more demanding this time. _Somebody _had better give me some answers.

"We had to perform a D&C," the doctor stated flatly. Brian's head dropped and he exhaled deeply, looking at the floor. The nurse sucked in her breath, shocked at the bluntness of the statement and its icy delivery.

"What does that _mean_? Is my baby okay?..."

"I'm sorry," the doctor said coldly, abruptly leaving the room.

The nurse stood there awkwardly for a moment, looking embarrassed.

"I lost my baby?" I had to ask her, because I wasn't certain.

"I'm sorry," she said gently, and gave me a moment to take in the information before adding, "We can't seem to get into contact with your husband. We've tried your home number and he's tried his cell…" she gestured at Brian.

"Don't call him."

"Kate," Brian began, using his warning tone.

"I want to tell him myself! And I don't want it to be _here_!" I noticed my left wrist was bandaged, and it ached. I assumed I'd smacked it or sprained it when I'd fallen.

The nurse shuffled her feet a little bit and said apologetically, "I'm sorry about Dr. Kyler. She's not usually so... I've never seen her do anything like that before."

I nodded.

Sure. Whatever.

"When can I get out of here?"

She'd given me a look of soft-hearted sympathy that I hated. It made me angry to be on the receiving end of that look.

"I'll make sure you can go as soon as possible," she said.

"Thank you." And I turned away from them, wanting the ache in my heart to go away. Wanting nothing more than for life to just go on as it had been.

Wanting nothing to do with the task ahead of me.

I'd passed out pregnant and woken up empty.

* * *

That was the day everything changed.

I can't help thinking that if I'd done things differently maybe things would have gone in another direction. Would have been okay.

Maybe if I'd been more of a man about it….or maybe less of one, I don't know.

Kate had said she'd be home by six, so I'd deliberately stayed a couple of extra hours at Mom's so she could have some time alone. She'd seemed to be really on edge lately.

I knew what had happened two months before had affected her, but she'd refused to talk about it, and I wasn't going to push her. She had the habit of going silent on an issue until she'd worked it through in her own mind and I knew better than to interrupt the process. Besides, I was dealing with my own issues surrounding that day.

When I arrived with the kids at about 9:30, she hadn't yet come home. We got jammies on, brushed our teeth and I read 'The Monster at the End of This Book', and 'Flat Stanley' twice each because Amanda was too wound up to sleep right away.

Mikey was out as soon as I'd put him down. He was an 'anytime, anywhere' kind of sleeper. He regularly fell asleep in his high chair, sometimes in his dinner. After the first time, we'd learned to serve his food a little less than lukewarm.

'Flat Stanley' had become one of my favorites. The first time I'd read it I felt a little twinge of guilt because Stanley Lambchop was pretty damn cool. I suspected if Amanda came to me and asked me to drag him all over town for a school project and blinked those big brown eyes at me, I just might.

I just might.

And I would be obligated to get a picture of him with Faith. And she would laugh and pretend to bite his little paper head off. And I would deserve it.

By the time Amanda had gotten tired of the books, interrogated me about what a new baby sister would mean and finally fallen asleep it was past ten-thirty. I was starting to get a little worried because Kate still hadn't called.

Like mine, her job could turn into an all-nighter on any given day. And after that whole ordeal with Serena I tried to keep myself constantly informed on her whereabouts.

Just as it occurred to me to check the answering machine, I heard her key in the lock, so I ambled out to the living room, fists in my pockets. Tense. I didn't know which Kate would be walking through the door - Happy Kate or Angry Kate...like I said, she'd been on edge lately.

"What the hell happened to _you_?" I demanded. She was wearing scrubs and had a thick bandage taped around her left wrist.

Dismal Kate.

Pale Kate.

She needed a gentler tone. "Where have you been?"

"At the hospital." Her voice cracked.

"What'd you do?" I took her arm at the elbow and inspected the bandage.

" I lost her."

"Hm." I said, letting go of her arm. "Lost who?" I asked idly, and when she paused, I looked back at her face, which had an expression I never, ever wanted to see again. Ever.

"Our baby." She whispered hoarsely. "I lost our baby."

Here's where I messed up: I yelled at her.

"You didn't _call _me?!"

She just stared at me for a minute, two consecutive tears rolling down her left cheek. Then she started talking fast, and I missed most of what she was saying because I was struggling with the enormity of it. She said something about being unconscious and the hospital calling here, and I wasn't here, and they'd tried the cell, so...

"Why didn't you call me to come get you? I can't believe you took a cab-"

"Brian drove me home."

"You called _Brian,_ but you didn't call _me_?"

"I didn't call anyone. It happened at work."

"Why didn't _he _call me?!"

"He tried."

The answering machine light was certainly blinking. From where I stood, arms crossed, I could see we'd gotten six calls. Dammit. My fault for not checking sooner. Probably just as many on the cell, which I'd left in the car all evening.

It was still there.

I'd failed her again.

The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. Even if someone _had _gotten a hold of me, there was still nothing I could have done.

I was absolutely powerless in this situation.

And the vulnerability in Kate's face made it worse. For a second I hated her for making me feeling this way.

What I should have done was – ah, I should have gone to her so we could grieve together.

But I didn't.

Because I wanted to stay angry.

Because this was just too devastating and I didn't want to feel it.

So I left her alone.

Without a word.

Because there weren't any.


	2. CH 2 Broken

"I need a hug!" I wanted to shout after him, but I knew if I did he'd probably come back. And I wanted to be alone with my misery. I'm sure he did too.

I changed into my froggy p.j.'s and went to check on Amanda and Mikey.

My two children.

Two.

I crawled into bed next to Amanda for a while. I almost took Mikey out of the crib so I could hold him, too.

But I couldn't sleep.

Eventually I left them and went to my bed and let my mind go over everything that had transpired that evening, as if I could have changed anything...

"Kate!" Brian had shouted from his office, twenty feet behind me. "I need that column by five!" He had been in there with the lights off, as usual.

"It's four-forty-seven!" I'd yelled back, not even turning. "And I just sent it to you!" The anniversary of September 11th was a week away and he'd encouraged me to use more of a personal reflection approach rather than my usual informative style. I'd acquired interviews with several people directly affected by the horrors of that day and had been able to construct what I felt was a particularly poignant personal essay.

"What about The Other Thing?" he'd demanded.

"If you want to talk to me you know where to find me!" I'd scowled. The computer screen was mostly obscured by the reflection of the overhead fluorescents, but that was a _lot_ less annoying than 'The Other Thing'.

Silence. He knew when not to bother me. Sometimes he did anyway. Same as Maurice.

I loved that I could get away with talking to my boss like that.

We'd started working at the publishing company at about the same time, just about two years before, and had bonded from that first day, when I'd tripped over him. He'd been crouched behind a desk, digging through files in the large bottom drawer, and I, as usual, had been talking, rather than looking where I was going.

I'd literally done a somersault and ended up flat on my back on the floor, looking up into mirthful brown eyes. Well, they were actually an amazing combination of brown and green that he referred to as 'silty swamp water'.

He'd made it clear immediately that he was an expert at putting people at ease by using self-deprecation. He'd grasped my hand and pulled me to my feet, making a deliberately corny comment about me lying down on the job, making himself look like the foolish one. I'd laughed and asked if he wrote his own dialogue because I could help him with that.

And he'd made some stupid, trite crack about 'head over heels'.

I'd feigned horror. "You're a _writer_?" I'd shaken my head. "You're just a cliché machine." Which is what I'd ended up calling him for the next week or so. Mostly because I couldn't remember his name.

And he'd certainly made an effort to live up to the name every chance he'd gotten. He was a wizard with words. _I _knew what he was doing, but co-workers who didn't get his comments would roll their eyes and sigh.

And a private joke was born. The first of many. _So_ many...at the expense of less observant co-workers.

The circle of other people in the office, most behind their desks, had been simply standing and staring at us.

"What is this, 'The Farmer in the Dell'? Go back to work! We're fine!" I'd exclaimed.

I'd been about to brush him off and get back to work when he'd spoken again:

"Brian, by the way." He'd said, hand out.

"Kate," I'd replied, and we shook.

"That's one damn firm handshake. Were you once a man?"

I hadn't been sure whether to be insulted or to laugh. His expression hadn't given me a tell. "That's something that will remain a mystery to you forever." I'd said, slightly perplexed.

Until a couple of months later when Mikey started to betray me.

He'd started leaving an orange juice on my desk every morning. "Folic acid." He'd explained. I'd pointed out there were other sources of folic acid and the next day found a bundle of kale in my in-box.

I hadn't known what to do with it, so I'd brought it home and when I tossed it on the kitchen counter Maurice had recoiled in horror. It had disappeared very quickly and I'd just assumed he'd thrown it out until later that evening when I discovered Amanda had separated each of the stems and planted them all neatly around the base of the potted ficus in the corner of the living room. Which was about all they were suitable for, Maurice had observed. Sometimes I just couldn't figure out what made her brain work that way...but I started referring to it as The Maurice Effect, like the title of a Ludlum novel. I was certain he'd been capable of inexplicable behavior as a child. And I was certain it had made perfect sense to him, as it probably did to Amanda.

Anyway, Brian and I had started bouncing ideas off of one another, and had even worked on a couple of pieces together, and before long we were inseparable. Our relationship was so comfortably affectionate that everyone else thought we were lovers.

After six months he'd moved up into the editor's position, but he'd still treated me like an equal.

He was a great editor and it didn't hurt that he could tell me where I wanted to go with a story before I was even sure about it myself. Most of the time I'd resist his suggestion until I finally got that it was the only one that made sense. He could be maddening. Same as Maurice.

And one day I'd finally realized something he'd apparently known from day one: that what I'd thought was a great brother/sister relationship was actually an undeclared, unexplored mutual attraction. But neither of us gave it more than a passing thought, and neither of us ever mentioned it. And somehow it wasn't at all uncomfortable.

My computer beeped at me. An IM from Brian. Guess he didn't feel like yelling any more.

"_What about that other thing?" _requested _BriBri. _

"**Gimme five**_." _I'd responded, as _RogerKate_, which Maurice would say all the time, a twist on my former name.

"_Five minutes? Done_." He'd responded. No, five _years_. Maybe I'd mellow with age and learn to tolerate this kind of crappy assignment.

I'd exhaled loudly and opened the file in question. A stupid, _stupid _advice column that had fallen to me because no one else wanted to take it and I had an overdeveloped sense of responsibility. The subject matter was assigned, and not by Brian – he hated the whole idea, too. I'd avoided the column _and _Brian as long as I could but he tracked me down and specifically asked me to take it. He knew I couldn't refuse him.

I smacked the keyboard a little too harshly, re-read everything and finally e-mailed it to him, with the subject line "Somebody Kill Me Please!", hoping that particular assignment would be short-lived.

" '_Put a bullet in my head'."_ He IM'd back. Heh. He'd gotten _The Wedding Singer_ reference.

That would have been cool, but the sudden and unwelcome image of a lifeless Michael Rockwell prevented me from enjoying the moment. I wanted to reply: 'Gladly', but I couldn't even do that. It just wasn't funny any more. It had been nearly two months and I was still having a hard time dealing with having watched two human beings die in front of me. I would never forget how Serena's face had looked - frozen in surprise. I shuddered at the memory.

The nightmares were only occasional, at this point.

I'd told Brian a little bit about it, but he'd never pressured me - never tried to exploit my experience. So many other editors would have pushed for the story, forced the issue. He'd been incredibly solicitous.

"_Sorry. Insensitive." _Reading my mind.

"**I've got to get out of here – Maurice has the night off. One more late night and I won't remember who he is..."**

"_So, I'm losing my right-hand man early - the day before publication?" _Wow. The guy gave guilt like a Mom.

"**I've stayed late for the last two and a half weeks. My kids have been eating cereal for dinner every night." **An exaggeration. Well, an outright lie.

"_I promise to get rid of this thing as soon as I can. I know you hate it."_

"**Chill, boss man. I can deal. Don't stand up for me when you don't have to. You know I'll be involved in something down the road I'll need you for… **

" _(Deep sigh)...I know… __Go home. Renegade." _

That made me smile.

I shut down the computer and rose, retrieving my handbag and portfolio. And I suddenly felt strange... like my water had broken, as it had with Mikey that day outside the dry cleaner.... I looked down and saw only blood. I didn't have time to realize what was happening before everything went black...

And here I was.

For four months I'd been carrying another human being with me everywhere I went. Now all I could do was lie here alone.

Alone and empty.


	3. CH3 Everythings Made to be Broken

I didn't trust myself to drive, so I tried to walk it off instead, stopping at the pizza joint the next block over for a Diet Pepsi. The owner knew me and gave me a smile I had a hard time returning.

Having the soda gave me something to do with my hands while I walked, messing with the cap every time I wanted a sip.

I was ticked that Brian had been the one with her instead of me, but there was nothing I could do about that. She'd been at work. Seriously, how many times had Faith accompanied _me_ to the hospital? And Brian was definitely Kate's Faith. They had a thing between them that, at first, had made me feel a little weird. Like that thing twins have. I hadn't liked it.

But I hadn't mentioned it to Kate. Just Faith. We had gotten together for breakfast one day about a year and a half earlier and I'd brought it up. Because of us. I guess I was really hoping it was just....like _us_.

"What. You don't _trust_ her?"

"Of course I do. Fred trusted you, right?" She waved _that_ reference away. And I wasn't sure if it was because of me or because of Fred. Probably both. At least she didn't give me the look of horror and disgust I'd expected for even implying...

"I don't know all the deep dark secrets of Kate's soul, but I can tell you one thing: the thought has never crossed her mind. Not with him, not with anybody."

"How do _you_ know?" I'd demanded, skeptical.

"You don't see the way she looks at you. And her eyes? The girl is an open book." She'd given a wry laugh. "She's the last of the 'true believers'."

"What do you mean by _that_?" I got defensive. It almost sounded like an insult, the way she'd said it.

"She _really _believes in that fairy-tale forever love - the one that will 'always prevail'. That _Princess Bride_ beyond-death eternal makes-you-wanna-_puke_ love." Ah. It was just because she _didn't_ believe. But she'd been right - who really _did_ anymore? Even so, her tone was one of grudging admiration. "I just don't understand how anyone could know _you _and still feel that way." She'd put it on me. That was fine.

She'd paused.

"Look. You're _married. _You just don't see that other person as an option. That's how it is." She'd shrugged, as if to apologize that the answer wasn't a more complex one.

I'd supposed it was just that simple.

Could it really be that easy?

"But a marriage should be the only relationship you put that kind of effort into!" I'd argued.

She'd snorted. "If I'd felt that way, where would _you _be right now?"

A valid point. She'd always been able to get to the heart of things.

And we _had _worked hard to restore our relationship.

"But we dealt with life and death situations on a daily basis. They deal with...._paper_."

And Faith distilled it for me: "You're being dumb."

"As long as we're clear on that." I'd given in and flicked my crumpled napkin at her.

And all of a sudden it hadn't been an issue for me anymore.

Just for fun, I'd started encouraging Amanda to call him 'Uncle B', which she did. Kate knew I thought that was hilarious but she was too stubborn to ask why. And I wasn't going to tell her unless she asked.

I kicked a stone into the road.

I couldn't tell which was worse: staying home and dealing with this whole mess head-on, or being alone with my thoughts. It didn't help that I felt terrible leaving Kate alone after what she'd just been through, but I was angry and frustrated and afraid I'd take it all out on her and make her feel worse.

We had just named her last week.

Kate had had an ultrasound, and I'd been able to go with her. They'd told us everything looked good and that she was a girl.

Another girl.

Outnumbered.

When we'd stepped outside afterward I'd challenged Kate to come up with a name.

" 'To be named later'." She'd joked.

"Seriously." I said, and we'd started walking. "What about 'Iris'?"

" _Iris. _Where'd _that _come from?"

"You told me the iris is a symbol of faith, hope and wisdom."

Kate stopped walking and just stared at me for a minute.

"You have an unbelievable memory!" She paused. "It doesn't really go with the surname…but let's face it, _nothing _will!" She elbowed me to show she was kidding. "If I'd been thinking about children I probably would have negotiated to get you to change your last name to 'Rogers'. I could call you 'Mr. Rogers' instead of Maurice."

Like _that_ would happen.

But she was kidding. And I'd never wear a button-down sweater or blue Keds.

"_Do _you have any recommendations?" Why I'd tried to carry on the conversation with the mood she was in is beyond me.

"Boston." She said impishly.

"No!"

"Oh, come on. We could call her 'BoBo'. And you could be 'MoBo'!" She kept nudging me. "And your mom could be 'RoBo'..." How do you even respond to that?

She mused. "How about Noah?"

Noah.

I gave her a warning look, which she ignored.

"Eln." She suggested.

"_Ellen_?"

"No. _Eln_."

"Is that even a name?"

She shrugged. "I saw it on a license plate."

"I've seen 'MEV' on a license plate. That's not how you name a kid!"

"Mev. I like that. But that's more masculine. It would probably have to be Mev_ina_."

"You're taking all the fun out of it."

"All right. Maybe we should start by eliminating the names we _can't _use."

I'd actually thought she was trying to be serious. "That would be Kate, Rose and Amanda....and Angela."

"Don't forget 'Sally', 'Nancy' and 'Mary'. Because when I'm addressing _you_ she might think I was talking to _her_."

"You're a freakin' _riot_." We stopped in front of a deli. "You have time for lunch?"

She squeezed my face with her right hand, which she seemed to really like to do. Between her and mom, I was going to develop permanent grooves there. "If it's with _you_, I have all the time in the world. Brian won't care. Being the boss's lover has its perks."

It wasn't true, but I still didn't like her making jokes about it.

"Bri_anna_!" she practically shouted in epiphany.

"That's just not funny. Are you hungry or not?"

"I'm _always_ hungry."

We ended up at a tiny corner table for two next to four loud, red-faced businessmen. Every single one of them checked her out. She was oblivious, but I made sure I said "Hey, how are ya?"

Kate ordered a Reuben, and that sounded pretty damn good, so I did the same.

We continued our name conversation, but Kate was in a very silly mood, so we basically got nowhere.

"Mikey's first word was 'baby' – how about that?"

"Name a baby '_Baby_'," I'd stated in flat disbelief.

"_Dirty Dancing._" She reminded me.

"I think that was more of a nickname. Wasn't her name Frances or something?"

"Hm." She paused, as if thinking. "Roxanne." The mischievous look was back.

"No _way_."

"Layla."

I gave her silence.

"Sharona?" Her eyes had that gleam that told me she wasn't going to give up until I was thoroughly annoyed.

"Absolutely not."

"Cecilia."

Simon and Garfunkel? I shook my head.

"L-O-L-A, Lola."

"Come on."

"Veronica."

I gave her a blank look.

"Elvis Costello." she informed me.

"No."

"Sweet Jane?"

"We are not naming our daughter after a song."

" 'Amanda' is a song! By Boston!"

"We didn't name her after the song." I reminded her.

"Shannon."

"That's a song about a dog! A _dead_ dog!" I looked at the ceiling, exhaling frustration.

After a few moments of silence, she said "Charisma."

I looked back at her glumly. "Would that be the _traditional_ spelling or, you know, with a '_K_'?"

And her suggestions just got more outrageous from there. Fortunately, at that point, our server brought the sandwiches – and they were taller than they were wide. Not a sandwich you could bite.

Now, Kate was very particular about how she ate things like this. She had to make sure she got a bit of every ingredient in every bite. I watched her start sawing away with a fork and a knife and wondered how she was going to manage this without toppling the sandwich and making a mess. But she did it – her precision was amazing…and so was her appetite. She ate the whole sandwich, the pickle, all her chips and half of mine. I'd barely finished the sandwich.

Over the next week she'd come to me with all these crazy names, knowing I'd reject them. 'Formica' was even one of them. Then she finally came up with a suggestion I could live with.

Susanne.

I took a day or two to mull it over.

Susanne...

Susie Boscorelli.

Cute.

I could see her, kindergarten-aged, pigtails flying as she sprinted across the playground...

Sue.

_Detective _Sue Boscorelli.

Petite and lady-like yet tough as Faith and Kate combined, inside and out. And, inexplicably, vibrantly blonde. With Kate's expressive mouth. When I couldn't tell by Kate's eyes what kind of mood she was in, I could always tell by her mouth.

But Susanne had always been just a general impression, her face obscured by shadow.

I'd told Kate I accepted the name. She had been emptying the dishwasher, and I still didn't know how she did it without all the clatter. Last time _I _did it I'm pretty sure we had a neighbor complain.

She'd given me a tiny satisfied smile over her shoulder and started humming.

Something was up.

"What's that?" I asked.

"A song by Lou Reed."

"Its _name_. What's its _name_?"

" 'I love you, Suzanne'."

She'd gotten me.

'Wake up, Little _Susie_.'

'Runaround _Sue_'.

She'd gotten me on every possible level of that name.

"You can't 'win' if I don't even know I'm playing." I'd groused.

"It's not about winning. I just like having fun with you. I'm dead serious about the name – the music was just icing on the cake."

"I like the name," I'd confessed slowly, "I just don't like that you tricked me."

"I didn't trick you. I gave you a suggestion and you decided you liked it. Do we need to find another name? How about 'Mimosa'? 'Sangria'? 'Beaujolais'?"

"Let's not go back to that. It's Susanne."

And now there was no Susanne.

It was so final.

I wanted to destroy something.

_Needed_ to.

All I could do was fire the half-empty Diet Pepsi bottle at the brick wall of an alley. It bounced off the wall and fell to the ground intact.

Unsatisfying.

Why weren't soda bottles still made of glass?

I was furious with Kate for not calling me – unconscious or not. I know that sounds a little unreasonable and even if I had been there I couldn't have changed a damn thing, but she'd taken away the opportunity for me to be there when she needed me.

Hell.

She needed me now.

I was being selfish with my grief.

But how could I even explain to her the things that had gone through my mind when she'd told me?

That life was frail.

Hell, _that_ point had been hammered home a little too often over the years.

And the reminder that I wasn't invincible. Or all-powerful.

That I might have lost both my baby _and _my wife.

Who the hell knew if Kate was okay? Knowing her, she'd gotten herself _out _of that hospital as fast as she could, using to her advantage the fact that she had Brian there to take her home. And the fact that they knew me.

And then I had a thought that actually made me stop still on the pavement because I literally couldn't walk and think it at the same time.

Sometimes, even though you know things aren't possible, your mind still goes there:

Faith had lied to me about _her _'miscarriage'.

When - your entire life - people you love have disappointed or betrayed you, your mind can come up with a million possible ways for them to do that.

So, all I could think was 'What if?'

What if she was lying, like Faith?

What if Susanne hadn't been mine? And she hadn't wanted me to be able to find out...

Oh, God, she would _never_. She could never do _that._

And Kate wouldn't lie to me.

_Couldn't_ lie to me.

Never had.

Never would.

That I knew for sure.

And now I felt like a complete idiot for leaving her alone.

And now I was more angry with myself than I had been with her...and I remembered one of the things Faith had said to me during that breakfast conversation: "The only thing that can mess you and Kate up is _you_." She hadn't meant other women. She'd meant me being me. I couldn't let her be right about that.

'Deus Ex Machina': It was a phrase Kate used relatively frequently referring to tv shows or maybe something she was reading for work.

It means "god from the machine". It's a pathetic plot device used by bad writers to solve a difficult problem 'out of the blue' when they've written their characters into an impossible situation and have no logical, earthly way of getting them out.

So, when the guy came running around the corner and nearly knocked me down, that was pretty much the only thing I could think of. Like he'd dropped out of nowhere. For my own personal distraction.

The pizza shop owner I'd bought the soda from was huffing and puffing in pursuit, long apron impeding his progress.  
"Stop that man!" He yelled at me.

Well, that was all I needed . The perfect outlet. It wouldn't _solve_ my problem, but it was an excellent way to avoid it for a while.

I watched the shop owner bend, hands on his knees, catching his breath. He'd run quite a few blocks.

I looked down the street at the guy running.

And I waited, hands in my pockets, another thirty seconds.

Just to make it a challenge.

* * *

When I finally went home Kate was sound asleep on what looked to be a very wet pillow. That made me feel even worse.

I knew it would be a restless night for me, so I stealthily took my pillow and retired to the couch.

I shouldn't have.

I should have held her. All night. While she slept.

Because she wasn't going to let me in the morning.


	4. CH4The Day the Music Died

The next day was horrible.

Kate had as little contact with me as possible.

How could I blame her?

I'd walked out.

I hadn't gone to bed.

She wasn't herself with the kids; her smile was forced and it never really reached her eyes. She wasn't 'all in' with them like she usually was. It was as though there was a little wall between them.

At least they didn't notice the difference.

It occurred to me that we were going to have to find a way to explain to Amanda that she wasn't going to have that little sister.

Brian had apparently told her to take a couple of days off, and it appeared she'd had the sense to listen.

He and I got along all right, and I'd allowed him as far into our lives as I had because it was clear he had Kate's best interests at heart. And he loved the kids. He'd stop by to drop off three tons of paper for Kate and end up spending a half hour on the living room floor being an evil ogre Amanda would have to slay. He was Kate's age and had the energy for it, so I'd just let him go with it. And it took some of the pressure off of me - not having to be the only 'horse' in Amanda's stable. Believe me, she was quite the equestrian. One day I'd gone to pick them up from Mom's and walked in on Sully being a horsie for her. I wish I'd had a camera. I'm not above blackmail.

Anyway, I'm pretty certain this is where I screwed things up again: I didn't know what to do so I did nothing.

I had a situation I couldn't control. I wasn't sure what to do to make things right, so I just tried not to do anything to make it worse.

I could tell she was fragile and I didn't want to do anything to upset her, so I tried to deal with the whole thing inwardly instead of talking to her about it.

I thought I was doing her a favor because she didn't need anything else to worry about. It didn't occur to me until later on that it might have appeared to be emotional abandonment. But, again, she liked to work through things on her own. How was I supposed to know that this time she couldn't?

I'd steered clear of her yet tried to do what I could to help at the same time, and had gotten the 'get out of my way' glare more than once, so I sat back on the couch and tried to focus on the tv and let her do her thing.

At one point Kate came over, drying her hands on a dishtowel and said,"Your father called again. He wants to see the kids."

"No."

We'd had this conversation before.

"Okay." She shrugged. "But he _is _their grandfather." She said that every time.

"He's nothing." I said that every time.

"I just think - "

"Enough, Kate. It's not going to work. Why do you think he calls _you_?"

"Because he thinks I can change your mind," she admitted.

"He said that?"

"No. It's just what I think."

"You're _exactly_ right. Don't even let him _think_ you're on his side in this."

"Why do there have to be sides?" she lamented. This wasn't like her. Usually by this time she'd conceded that I was right and the man had no place in our lives. She knew what he was.

This was new. This was unreadable.

I hadn't had to try to 'read' Kate in years… it was what it _was_...

That day… it _wasn't_.

When she'd finally done all the things she does with Amanda and Mikey, she gave them a rather late lunch and tucked them in for their naps. I'd assumed we could have a chance to talk, but I could tell she was feeling restless and probably needed some space.

When she came back to the living room I said "Go on," and tossed my keys at her.

She watched them hit her in the abdomen and fall to the floor.

"I don't feel like it," she shrugged, scooping up the keys and shooting them back to me with a little more velocity than necessary.

"You need to." I said, tossing them back.

She glared at me as she let the keys hit her yet again, and fall to the floor.

"I _said _I don't _feel _like it." She picked them up and pitched them at the wall just to the left of my head. She'd thrown them so hard they'd stuck in the wall for a good three second before dropping to the floor. I was thankful she was accurate. Then it occurred to me she may not have been. Maybe they had been meant for my face.

"Geez, Kate," How the hell was I supposed to respond to _that_?

Turns out I didn't have to because she turned and left, locking herself in the bathroom running the tub for a hot bath. No doubt it was by design that she emerged mere minutes before I was supposed to leave for work, wrapped in a fluffy robe, hair tucked up under a towel, face scrubbed clean.

She couldn't scrub away the sadness.

"Are you going to be all right?"

"I'm fine," she said and gave me a tepid, sisterly kiss on the cheek.

"Make sure you call Ma if you need anything."

"I'm _fine_."

* * *

After Maurice left, I dropped to the couch and lay on my back and just stared at the ceiling for a long, long time.

Thinking.

About where I was, where I'd been, where I was going.

And it seemed to me that all I'd been doing for so very long was just maintaining the status quo. Not moving forward, not moving back - just being stagnant. Being ineffective.

Sure, I was raising two children, which had been wonderful but suddenly didn't feel like _enough._

Apparently enough children, not enough accomplishments.

What exactly _had_ I accomplished in the last few years?

Not much.

Nothing earth-shaking, perhaps not even anything that could help a person or change a life.

Here I was, sending Maurice off every night to save the world, and I wasn't even making a difference in it.

Not even at the womens' shelter.

I went, I volunteered, but I didn't really _invest_ myself.

It occurred to me that I was pretty much defined by my family. My identity was swallowed up by them.

As a matter of fact, just the previous week I'd made a joke about legally changing my name to 'Amanda's Mom', because that's how I was widely known. "Oh, you're _Amanda's _mom!", as though I just happened to be tagging along with the little force of nature that she was...

Even at work.

I could have had the editor's job Brian got if I'd wanted it badly enough. If I'd been willing to sacrifice time with family for work. Maurice would have supported it, if he thought it was something I really wanted.

But the role of 'mom' was more important to me than Pulitzer Prize winning journalism.

Mom.

All my thoughts seemed to bring me back to Susanne. I wouldn't let myself cry anymore. I'd cried enough.

And suddenly, unbidden, I felt relief that I wasn't going to have to juggle a newborn and two other children. And that slight sense of relief was followed by a guilt so intense I got myself dressed and started making cupcakes, preparing a fun post-nap activity and scrubbing the kitchen from top to bottom all at the same time.

* * *

When I came home it was nearly one and, again, I wasn't sure what to expect.

Turns out Kate, still fully dressed, was curled on the couch asleep. Probably emotionally exhausted.

I peeled the bed covers back then came back out, pulling her shoes off and dropping them, then carried her to bed and tucked her in. She barely moved. When I went to the kitchen for a beer I saw why. It was spotless. The cupboards had been polished, counters and sink cleaned, the floor was gleaming and slippery, and she'd cleaned the inside of the fridge. There were even some yellow cupcakes with chocolate frosting.

Those go great with beer.

Some art project in progress was spread over the counter in the corner.

I went in to check on the kids, and Mikey was lying perfectly still, quietly awake, gazing out the window at the full moon. He squealed a little when he saw me, so I picked him up and brought him out to the living room to keep me company for a while, hoping that something distracting was on tv. After a while, he dozed again and I put him back to bed.

My pillow was on the couch and I honestly couldn't remember if I'd left it there all day, or if she'd put it there deliberately. I just assumed neither of us had put it back on the bed. I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep, so I just lay on the couch with the tv on, thinking about the irony... here we were, just like our first night together: she's out cold, I put her to bed and spend the night on the couch. Only this time the separation hurt. I could have gone to bed, but I was pretty sure she didn't want me there.

And I just didn't want to find out for certain.

* * *

I awoke to a light clatter coming from the kitchen. Nothing noisy, just comforting. I could smell coffee and hear Amanda saying "Nooo-wah!" and "Stop-ah!"

She added an extra syllable to things sometimes when she was annoyed.

Kate had covered me with a blanket and I burrowed under it for another five minutes before the smell of coffee was too much to resist. I ran my hands through my hair to be sure Amanda couldn't comment on what she called my 'Scary Hair' (which had once actually scared her), and shuffled out to the kitchen.

"Ma."

"Hi, sleepyhead. It's nearly 11."

"It was a late one. And I couldn't sleep. What are you doing here? Where's Kate?"

"She went to work."

"The _hell _she did!"

"Shh!" Mom scolded, nodding toward the kids, who were coloring at the table, Mikey in that little high chair attached to the table.

"Hell!" he crowed. Mom gave me a look that said 'See?'

Amanda looked at me, chin raised mischievously, ready to repeat the word. I stopped her with a look and pointed at her.

"We don't say those words. _You _don't say those words." I clarified. "If you do you lose all things Disney for a _week_."

"Does that mean coloring books, too?" Amanda asked, while Mikey gnawed on a red crayon, which I dropped into the trash. Early teeth, early walking, early words. He'd even been born early. We could attribute the early walking and talking to Amanda and her constant attention. She couldn't let him be - she was on him all the time, teaching colors and shapes and talking constantly. Believe it or not, she'd already started reading lessons. He was barely a year and a half.

_"Everything_."

She thought about that for a minute and then silently went back to the page in front of her. Mikey eyed the green crayon hungrily, drooling little chunks of red wax.

"Ma, he can't color. He can't really hold the crayons." I wiped his face with my hand, and rinsed it all off in the sink.

She gave me a defiant look and gestured toward an absolute mess of color she'd attached to the fridge with tape.

"Looks like vomit." I observed.

She gave me an affronted look. "It's his first masterpiece. And Amanda drew a unicorn." On pink paper right next to Mikey's 'masterpiece'.

I looked at Amanda. "What, no tiara?"

"Over the _horn_?" she squinted at me skeptically.

"Right. I was thinking Pegasus."

"Pegasus has _wings_." she told me reproachfully.

"Gotcha."

"Please," Mom begged, "_please_ have a cup of coffee. Quickly."

I poured a cup and sat at the table watching the kids color, slowly waking up.

"So she went to _work_? Did they call her in?"

"No, she called me last night and asked me if I wouldn't mind."

"Last night."

"Last night." She confirmed.

"She didn't say they called her in? Maybe an emergency?" Believe it or not, there _were_ publication emergencies. Nothing _I'd_ lose sleep over, but Kate had a crazy sense of responsibility when it came to these things.

"No. Just got the impression she was eager to get back to work. Maybe to keep her mind off of things."

I was an idiot. I'd pretty much left Kate to call Mom and tell her what had happened. I should have done that myself.

Maybe she just went back early to avoid _me_.

"Don't you think it's a little too soon?" Somehow I made it sound like a complaint rather than a question.

"Don't you think she knows what she's capable of?"

"You like _her_ better, don't you?"

She just laughed, covered my hand with her own and whispered, ever aware of the kids, "I'm so sorry."

She was letting me off the hook about it.

"I should have called you myself." I acknowledged glumly.


	5. CH5 Same As It Ever Was?

The more I thought about it, the more ticked I got. By the time I was done with my second cup of coffee I'd decided to go get her. She had no business going to work today. And no way was I going to let her shut me out. I dropped my mug in the sink, kissed all three of them goodbye, threw on a jacket and went after my wife.

She wasn't at her desk, so I waited, scanning the room and toying with a stray jumbo paper clip, trying to flick it up onto the big, flat desk calendar. It kept getting caught on the edge.

I could see into Brian's office – the guy was sitting in the dark talking on the phone, smoothing his tie. When he saw me he brought the conversation to what looked like an abrupt end and stalked over, spreading his arms.

"What is she doing here?" he asked, incredulously.

"I was going to ask you the same thing."

"She just showed up! Like nothing even-" He dropped his shoulders and shut his mouth. "Hey. I'm sorry, man."

One more try with the paper clip. Fail.

"How is she?" He asked, voice low.

I really didn't know.

"Moody. Sad." I said anyway.

"She's trying too hard." Brian said. "To be herself. She's covering it up, but I think it really made her _angry_."

No. That would be me.

"It's good you guys can get through this together. That you have each other to talk to."

Only we weren't talking.

She didn't need the added burden of _my_ issues. I was going to have to work through this on my own. And I couldn't talk to Mom – she'd suggest some kind of 'support group'. Pff.

I nodded at him, taking advantage of the fact that he'd correctly interpret my silence as pain and would drop the subject as quickly as possible.

"Remember, you're both going through the same thing." He said, looking over my shoulder, past me.

That's what _I'd_ thought, but it turns out I was wrong. Really wrong.

"She's coming back." He said, and glanced back at me. "Would you keep her home tomorrow?"

"Yah. _You _try telling her anything."

Kate stopped next to us with an armload of papers and looked from me to Brian and back again. She looked like it pissed her off that I gave a damn.

"What are _you_ two doing?"

"Trying to solve a riddle." Brian said pointedly.

She snorted and dropped the papers loudly onto her desk, burying my paper clip.

"Typical men. Always trying to 'solve' things." She looked back at each of us in turn. "Sometimes there's just no solution. No answer that makes things 'all better'." She turned back to her desk and Brian and I exchanged a look. _Definitely_ angry.

"Um, Kate," he began, scratching at his temple, his face scrunched a little, anticipating her response. "You haven't had lunch yet, why don't you and –"

"I'm not hungry." She didn't even glance up.

He tried again, "Why don't you and Maurice go –"

Kate turned on him, practically snarling, "Why don't _you_ and Maurice go? Then you can continue your little conversation about what I should or shouldn't be doing, and you can decide how I should or shouldn't be feeling. Take notes. When you figure it all out for me, let me know. God, it's like I have _two _idiot husbands!" She whirled and stalked back to the stairwell door, where she'd come from. I was surprised to see that she was wearing a skirt, which was unusual for her. It was a little tight.

That's not a criticism.

We both just stood there for a minute, staring at the doorway she'd gone through, hands in our pockets. Brian exhaled loudly. "Hurricane Kate."

I glanced at him. "Can you keep her late tonight?"

"Noo. " he said quickly. "No _way_. Can I fire her?"

"I'd have to killya." I said offhandedly. And we stood there in silence for a while.

He looked over at me sharply. "Do you think any of _this_ has to do with _that_?" He meant July.

"Kate _talked_ to you about that?"

"If you call a thirty-second recap 'talking'." He paused. "She didn't want to say any more and I wasn't going to push her. But now _this…_ I don't know what the hell to expect next."

"What do you mean?"

"In July she came back a little subdued. I could tell there was something bothering her, and she was keeping it under the surface, but she was acting as though nothing of consequence had happened. She was distracted, and I could see she wasn't sleeping enough. She worried about you constantly. For a while she even had a police scanner, until I made her get rid of it. I convinced her she'd drive herself crazy waiting for something to happen to you. After a couple of rough weeks, things just seemed to straighten themselves out. She threw herself into her work more than ever. Became more of a perfectionist, if that's even possible. But she hasn't been any fun to be around, I'll tell you."

Well, she'd fooled the hell out of _me_. Life at home had seemed to be the same as it ever was. But I thought about what he'd said, and maybe it had seemed a little _too _perfect. She'd been in a bad situation, far beyond her control. Maybe she was trying to compensate by over-controlling the things she could… I hadn't noticed she wasn't sleeping, or was sleeping _less_, but if it wasn't a crying child, I wasn't hearing it. It could rain ball bearings. And not those small ones, either.

But he was right about one thing, she hadn't been a whole lot of fun to be around for the last two months. Life certainly didn't seem to be as much fun for her as it normally did.

He gave me a little shove on the shoulder and I turned on him so fast he took a surprised step back. He held up a hand.

"I'm just sayin' go after her."

"Sorry."

He shrugged. "I'm going to make her take some time off."

"Fine by me. How long?"

"Couple of weeks?"

"How about three. She needs to recalibrate."

"A month, if you want. Just as long as she comes back."

"_Back_? I'm going to have to cuff her to the radiator to keep her _home_."

"You let me know when she's ready to come back. Now go after her." He had the sense not to touch me this time.

"Thanks, man." I said, and followed her into the stairwell.

I found her on the third landing down, sitting on the bottom step up against the outer wall, knees up, face in her hands. I sat on the next step up, opposite side, to give her space.

She looked over at me, and wiped at her eyes, which were leaking tears.

"What the hell do _you_ want?"

"I just want to make sure you're okay."

She stood, smoothing her skirt, swiping the dust off her backside.

"Too little, too late." And she went back up the stairs.

I sighed and leaned back, resting on my elbows. I wondered, absurdly, if I had looked up while she had climbed the next flight if I could have seen up her skirt. It is true that deep down inside every man is still twelve years old.

I sighed and wondered how I could make this any better. I was always fixing things she'd ask me to – the faucet in the bathroom, the doorbell that no one used, and occasionally something to do with her car or mine…which would leave me with a little grease under my fingernails. And I think she kind of liked that. She'd get this 'my man can fix _anything_' look.

Only I couldn't fix _this_.

It killed me that Brian had been able to see it all and I hadn't…

His comment about her being worried about my safety made sense out of an incident that had happened a couple of weeks earlier. I've made much of Kate's ability to speak without thinking, but I've done it a time or two myself:

"What do you think my last words will be?" I'd mused one Saturday while we'd been lounging on the couch during nap-time. I'd been thinking of Mikey's _first _words.

Kate had stared at me. "Are you _kidding _me?"

I'd shrugged. "_Sounds _like me," I'd agreed.

She'd actually glared at me. "No! Are! You! _Kidding_ me! How can you just throw a question like that out there – just bring it up out of nowhere? You think this is something I need to _think _about?"

"Probably not." I'd conceded.

"_Absolutely_ not!" she'd exclaimed and stomped out to the kitchen where she'd taken out her aggression on whatever had been for dinner. I think we'd had a salad with _lots _of chopped vegetables. And she hadn't talked to me again until dinnertime. The silence had been awful.

I'd never been one to talk about feelings, and she'd never made me – she just always seemed to know. Same as me with her. I could always tell what was going on, what she needed, when she could take some needling, when she couldn't. Now I felt like I'd had blinders on. She was hiding things from me. Deliberately.

I hadn't known what was going on with Kate. God help me, if I _had _I would have done everything I could to help her. She hadn't spoken to me about what had happened in July, not much, anyway, but I knew she was having a hard time dealing with it. Sometimes I wonder if I had pressed the issue – _made _her talk about it – maybe we wouldn't be where we were.

I guess I took her strength for granted. She'd been independent and determined for so long I completely missed the change. It had been gradual and she was trying to hide it all, but still…Of _all_ people, I should have known.

I should have been able to see that she was having a hard time dealing with two dead bodies, never mind the fact that she'd almost been one of them. And I knew the fact that she'd been taken against her will was something that wore on her, in spite of the 'relationship' she'd fostered with her kidnapper. We argued about that sometimes. She'd insisted he was a decent guy caught up in the wrong circumstances, I'd insisted he'd put her in a situation where her life was in danger and he'd deserved what he'd gotten.

Maybe we were both right.

I know she took it personally when Serena murdered him, but to me he was just the guy who put my wife in the wrong place at the wrong time. After that, I constantly had an incredible feeling of fear for Kate's safety. And, here, _again_, I was powerless. Vulnerable. No way to control the situation. It had hit me hard in before, but this was worse.

Kate had never said anything, but I always wondered if she was disappointed in me – in my inability to protect her. In the fact that if she hadn't acted as she had, we'd both be dead. Because there was no way in hell I could have given Serena a wink and a smile and gotten her to let me out of those cuffs. She'd had no intention of _ever_ doing that.

I'd gone over it in my mind a thousand times, many of them lying awake at night next to a woman I'd assumed was sleeping , but was apparently someone who was having her own trouble handling all that had happened. I should have known. She wasn't equipped to deal with that kind of situation. She acted as though she was fine, and I'd bought into it. Because I'd wanted to.

I wasn't used to dealing with the aftermath of situations like that. Usually you walk away, turn over your weapon, fill out some papers, tell a few people what happened and maybe even 'how it made you _feel_', take a couple of days off and when you come back you're jumping into something new.

No real-life consequences sitting at the breakfast table staring you in the face every morning making you second-guess everything you did or even _could _have done.

Maybe I _did _need to talk to somebody. Someone who understood about the second guessing, the need to protect the people you love, and the reminders that you failed.

Only _his_ reminder had been an empty apartment. Just as mine could have been.


	6. CH 6Here Comes The Sun?

"I don't want to talk about it." Sully said, slamming Mom's refrigerator door and tossing me a beer that I nearly dropped because I hadn't been expecting it. I set it on the counter I was leaning against.

"Neither of you drink. Why do you have this?"

"Because you do."

"You don't need to keep this around for me."

"What are you _worried_?"

"No." I said defensively. "No. I can take it or leave it."

"And you're saying we _can't_." He crossed his arms.

"That's not what I'm saying." This was going _great._ What the hell had I been thinking?

"It's what you're implying."

"It's not! Why'd I even come here?"

"You're looking for answers that I can't give you. You have to work this out yourself."

I exhaled in frustration. "We could have done this over the phone."

"Preferable." He said pointedly. " _Next_ time."

"There won't be a next time." I started to walk out.

"It was abrupt. Unexpected. I was unprepared. I didn't know how to deal with it."

I turned back, but stayed at the doorway, silent.

"These are things _you_ take care of, that you go clean up after for _other _people; they're not things that happen to _you_."

Exactly.

"She's not dealing with it well. She's talked to me about it."

I blinked. She'd talked to _him_?

"She has nightmares. About how things _could_ have ended up. Watching two people die. What if she hadn't left the kids with us...What could happen to then on any given day. What could happen to _you_ ."

And she'd been hanging onto all of this for two months. Acting as though everything was normal.

Every time I turned around there was a new layer of misery in Kate's life. Nightmares, now.

It was like a jigsaw puzzle – she had spread the pieces all over the place.

That reminded me of the conversation we'd had when we'd first met about 'putting the puzzle together'.

I thought we _had_, but here she was taking it all apart and trying to hide the pieces.

"If she finds out I told you _any_ of this, you're dead." He admonished, then thought about it. "Probably _twice_."

I nodded.

"She started to worry about you at work – like the perils never _occurred_ to her before. She's been doing everything she can to make life at home stress-free so you have no distractions on the job. Which is why she's been coming to me."

"And you let her? Deceive me?"

"She wasn't trying to 'deceive' you - she's doing what she thinks will protect you."

"She doesn't think I can handle it."

"She doesn't want you to _have _to handle it. I get the impression she's been running herself ragged. For _you_. Can't figure out _why_."

The 'moment' was over. Got it.

I let him read the thanks in my eyes, as he preferred it, and grudgingly told him he ought to be at my place helping Mom by tiring out the kids.

"Somehow it always works the other way around. And your Mom doesn't like it when I fall asleep early."

"Ugh! Stop!" I broke for the door. He followed.

"Seriously! I snore and she says she can't hear the TV."

"I'm not listening!" I tried to yell him down, but ended up having to put my hands over my ears as he hollered something else that I mercifully couldn't hear.

* * *

The next couple of days were tough for Kate.

And for me.

I wanted to spend time with her, so I took time off to help her out. By the time those two days were over I couldn't wait to get out of the apartment.

She wanted nothing to do with me.

She was angry.

Angry that she'd lost Susanne.

Angry at me.

Angry at Brian for making her take the time off. I was glad it wasn't me who'd had to have _that_ conversation with her. He'd probably had to threaten that he'd take her job if she didn't stay away for a while. I almost gave the guy a courtesy call to make sure she let him keep all his body parts.

But, somehow, he'd managed her, because here she was at home.

She barely spoke to me, although I _did_ try.

I even cornered her in the kitchen one time. I still don't understand how you can ignore someone who's right in your face. It takes a will of iron. But she did it.

When she wasn't taking care of the kids, she was in bed. The dark circles under her eyes made it clear she wasn't getting as much sleep as she wanted me to think.

I figured if she didn't talk to me she might talk to Mom. Or Faith. Or Sully.

So I had them all call at one time or another but she didn't really say much beyond the usual pleasantries. The only thing she did say that was even close to addressing the issue was a comment she made to Faith: "Baby weight comes off quickly when you have no reason to eat."

I _had _noticed that she seemed to be pushing food around her plate rather than putting it in her mouth. I'd been about to admonish her, but I didn't want to call attention to it in front of the kids – they might attempt to develop similar tactics.

After a while I stopped trying to get her talking.

I didn't want to say the wrong thing, so I said nothing.

Everything I tried to do seemed to be the wrong thing. I suggested I take the kids to visit Grandma so she could have some down time and she said she liked having them around, the emphasis she put on those words very carefully equal, which told me she wanted to place the emphasis on '_them_'...

The kids were building a block castle in front of the fireplace and I was half-watching them, half-watching the TV.

Amanda was amazing. There was none of that older sibling jealousy that you hear about. She'd adored Mikey from day one. Having to wait for him to be born had driven her crazy. I didn't know how we were going to tell her about Susanne.

She was showing him how two blocks shaped like half-circles fit together to make a whole one, and instructing him on the names of all the differently shaped blocks. He'd heard it all before but he was incredibly tolerant of Big Sis instructing him on everything. I bet when the time came she'd be the one to teach him to tie his shoes – long before Kate or I even gave it a thought.

I could hear Kate muttering to herself in the kitchen as she was prepping dinner early so she wouldn't have to do as much later. Aside from being generally angry, I knew she was frustrated that she couldn't go to work. And maybe this _was _a mistake: maybe work would have taken her mind off of things and kept her on a more even keel. She also wasn't sleeping and was probably pretty well exhausted from the nightmares and anxiety every time I went to work. All of this on top of what had happened in July. Throw in the hormonal changes and you've got one hell of an Emotion Soup.

She started making noise with the little ceramic containers she used to separate and hold the prepared ingredients and, even though I couldn't hear the words, I could tell her tone was not a happy one.

I went to see if I could help her with anything. Unlikely, but at least I could ask.

She didn't acknowledge me when I came in, but I wasn't sure she'd heard me.

I just wanted to put my arms around her and bury my face in her hair, but she had a knife.

She had been talking to the vegetables she'd had spread all over the cutting board, voice low enough the kids couldn't hear her.

" 'Stupid. Worthless. No good, goddamn free-loading son of a bitch-'" Well now. I knew what movie that was from, so I interrupted her before she got to the rest of it.

" 'You forgot ugly, lazy and disrespectful'." Since I didn't want to hear my wife reply "Shut up, bitch!", I quickly added, "You're in a mood." I wasn't sure what to do with my hands, so I just put them on her shoulders, running my thumbs from her shoulder blades to the base of her neck and back again. It did nothing for the tension I felt there, but when she spoke her tone was a little softer.

"Yeah. I'm in a 'mood'." She didn't shrug my hands off her, so already this was the best day _ever_.

"Anything I can help with?" I meant dinner, but she was thinking more metaphysically.

"You can get me my baby back, get me my job back, get me my life back. And while you're at it, world peace." But she wasn't being sarcastic, angry or even mean. She just sounded defeated.

"Is it that bad?"

"Yes, it's that bad! Look at my life!" She turned a little to look at me. "Six days ago everything was perfect! Now I'm in _hell_." She moved away from me a little.

"Just because _one _thing is wrong, doesn't mean it's _all _wrong."

She threw the knife on the counter. "_I lost my __**baby**_!"

I shoved my hands in my pockets. "She was mine, too." I said quietly. Kate was silent.

That doubt came back. Did I have to ask? Of course not. I knew better.

But my mouth was about ten seconds behind my brain. "Wasn't she?" It's always when I'm afraid of saying the wrong thing that I inevitably do. Thank God Kate knew that. Her reaction wasn't as explosive as I expected.

"Of course she was yours!" Kate snapped. "I don't have time to _breathe _let alone make time for another _guy_." She stopped. "But, wait a minute. Wait a minute. For the next three weeks I've got nothing _but _time. I'll be absolutely _swimming _in free time. You know what I'm going to do? I'm going to start ordering things from Amazon by the truckload." She nodded. "Yeah."

"What does that _mean_?"

"UPS Guy."

"Whatever makes you happy." I shrugged, taking a few of the carrots she'd cut julienne.

"_Nothing _makes me _happy _right now!"

"Tell me what you want. Tell me what to do."

"Leave me alone." She answered, elbowed me out of the way and picked up the knife again, working on the red peppers.

"Stir fry?"  
"Mmmhmm." She said impatiently.

"It was a little spicy last time. Mikey put it in his eye."  
"I was _there_." She didn't verbally add the implied 'moron'.

Well, things had _almost _been a little better...

I was relieved to go back to work the next day. The tension was too much.

Neither of us were used to it; it had never been like this.

We both really needed the space.

When I got home Kate was reading, believe it or not, a _hardcover_ book on the sofa, dressed for bed. Her robe was open a little and I could see she was wearing a ruby-colored satin nightie instead of those old frog pajamas she loved so much. I didn't know how to read that. She had a few what I called 'signal nighties' that let me know the minute I walked in the door I wasn't going to sleep right away. This was not one of them. I'd have to go on verbal cues.

"Hi." I said.

"Hi." she responded in kind without looking up from her book.

Okay.

"What's that you're wearing?"

"UPS Guy just left." Her attention was still on the book. Very funny. She continued, "I don't know, I guess I just wanted to feel...._better_."

She finally took her eyes off the page to look at me and her expression turned to one of alarm.

"What's _that_?"

I'd actually forgotten. She dropped her book, rose and came over to me.

"I shot my eye out." I was trying to get her to laugh. The last thing I needed was to add to her worry.

"Ha ha. What happened?"

"Nothing. Guy took a swing at me."

"Drunk? Or just stupid?"

"A remarkable combination of both."

"He cut you," she said, "It's bleeding."

"Really?"

"Let's take care of that." She pulled me into the bathroom and took out the cotton balls and hydrogen peroxide. Just like Mom used to do. There's nothing worse than being six years old and watching your mom pour peroxide over a knee scrape. The sting is bad enough, but watching it foam up is worse. Because you know, deep down, that the white foam is only hiding the fact that its _real _purpose is to eat your flesh.

Kate dabbed carefully at my face, brow furrowed in concentration, making sure she didn't get it in my eye.

Something wasn't right.

I couldn't put my finger on it, but something was just _off._

Kate capped the bottle, and threw out the cotton balls. She applied a little Neosporin, patted me on the shoulder with a small smile and returned to her book.

I was halfway through brushing my teeth when I realized exactly what had been bothering me. I spit in the sink.

"Kate!" I called out to her.

"Hmm?"

"When I left for work, wasn't the bathroom _blue_?"

"I got bored."

The next couple of weeks were going to kill me.


	7. CH7Things Fall ApartIt's Scientific

"Mommy."

Mikey had climbed out of his crib again and toddled in, to Kate's side of the bed.

"There is no Mommy, only Zool." She grumbled.

"I'll get him." I looked at the clock. 7:02. Of course.

"I just need ten more minutes." Kate mumbled, barely audible.

I scooped him up and hung him over my shoulder, which made him squeal. He could be one loud kid when he wanted to be. Kate pulled my pillow over her head and I closed the bedroom door behind me.

I made him a sippy cup of apple juice while he sat on the counter, kicking his little socked feet against the cupboards below.

"Cheerios?" I asked.

"_Recess_." He replied, _very _clearly.

Mikey talk was sometimes hard to translate. Most of the time he sounded like he was talking with his mouth full. But he was very serious about _Recess_.

"Breakfast." I stated.

"_Recess_." He insisted.

"Compromise." I conceded, not wanting to deal with his morning persona, which could still be really ugly. I filled a cup with Cheerios and carried him out to the living room. I put in a DVD of the cartoon and sat him on the couch, tucked under my arm. He ate his Cheerios slowly, riveted to the TV. The show had been off the air for years, but he'd been introduced to it at an acquaintance's house and was really drawn to it for some reason. His pronunciation of the name ' TJ Detweiler' continued to evolve, with a new incarnation nearly every day.

Somewhere in the middle, Amanda came out, rubbing her eyes. She marched past us to the kitchen without a word. Another morning person.

I had left the open box of Cheerios on the counter. It drove Kate crazy when I didn't fold down the inner bag. "You like bugs?" she'd ask.

Boo took a cup from the second drawer next to the fridge, where Kate had stored them after finding her standing on the kitchen counter in order to get one from the upper cabinet.

I could see her pour the Cheerios into the cup, slowly, with Kate's precision, determined not to spill a single one. And she never did.

Her spirit, willfulness and determination kept me up some nights thinking about what she'd be like in her teens...

'Remarkable' was all I could come up with.

When she came over and sat next to me I tried to put my arm around her, but she sat primly, straight-backed at the edge of the sofa, balancing the cup on her knees.

There's that old Freudian cliché that says girls act as though Mom is a rival for Dad's affection. Amanda couldn't be bothered. She knew she had me. She doled out her affection as she saw fit. She'd thought it through at five years old. We were in for so much trouble with her...

By the time the DVD was over, Mikey had fallen asleep, so I tucked him back in. When I came back Amanda had returned _Recess_ to its case and started her new favorite: '_Beauty and the Beast_'.

We only allowed her to watch it when Mikey wasn't around. Truthfully, I thought it was a little intense for a five-year-old, but Amanda was an exceptional five-year-old. She could handle it. And Belle was pretty much the only 'Disney Princess' I could stomach. She was a good balance of strength and vulnerability. The early princesses were a bunch of placid victims, the later ones too preachy.

I sat back down next to Boo and she, having put her empty cup in the kitchen, was ready for affection. She picked my arm up and draped it across her shoulders, holding onto my hand. I pulled her in and she burrowed until she was comfortable, with her head on my chest.

I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. She couldn't see me from where she was – maybe I could catch a quick nap. She was observant, though. If she caught me she'd wake me up: "Daadeee! You're _missing _it!"

I could hear the opening scene, with Belle walking through the town with her book and her little 'the hills are alive' moment. Amanda propped herself up and grabbed my face. What was it with Boscorelli women and my face? "Hey!" she said to get my attention. I looked down at her.

"If we turned Mommy into a cartoon, she'd be Belle."

I frowned a little. There _was _a resemblance. In more ways than one.

Amanda was looking at me expectantly, so I gave her a stern look and said, "I hope that's not your way of calling me a beast." Which made her giggle.

" 'Crazy old Maurice, huh'?" she quoted with a mischievous smile.

"Oh, you think you're funny." I tickled her belly until she slid off the couch and lay prone and lifeless on the floor, eyes closed, the twitch of a smile at the corner of her mouth. I rubbed at her stomach with my heel. "You're missing it."

She climbed back to her original snuggle spot and I made an effort to watch the movie with her. I must have dozed at one point because I think I had a dream that Kate _was _Belle and Gaston was Evan. I awoke with a bad feeling I couldn't shake. Boo was snoozing, so I flipped over to the sports channel.

* * *

Kate emerged from the bedroom three hours later, disheveled, her long robe open.

"You look like hell." I told her. Brilliant. Nothing like starting her day off on the right foot...

She ran her hand through her hair and cinched her robe. "I'm fine." She moved to the kitchen.

"No coffee?" she squeaked.

"It's eleven o' clock."

"_Eleven o' clock_! Why didn't you wake me up?"  
"You needed the sleep."

"So do you! You don't need to do my job! God! Eleven o' clock! I'm not even dressed!" She bustled back to the bedroom and gathered her clothes, then locked herself in the bathroom. She'd mastered the mothers' art of the five-minute shower, and she was back out within ten minutes, fully dressed, face made up, hair left to air-dry. I'd made coffee and handed her a cup.

"Thanks," she said. "You were up early. Why don't you go take a nap before work?" She didn't make it sound like a suggestion.

"I'm fine."

"I don't want you going to work exhausted. If a guy can get the best of you on a _good _day-"

"He didn't 'get the best of me'! He barely clipped me."

She crossed her arms and gave me her skeptical look. "Have you _seen _yourself this morning?"

I hadn't. I sighed deeply, and exaggerated the act of dragging myself up off the sofa, as if it were a major exertion.

"Hey Drama." Kate shook her head. Was that _almost_ a smile? "Where are the kids?"

"On the roof." I went to check myself in the bathroom mirror.

"_What_?"

"They're playing in their room. Amanda's teaching school. Math class, I think." I called out to her. Yes, I had bruised up quite nicely. But it wasn't puffy and it didn't really hurt.

So I poked at it a little harder and winced. Then I saw Kate was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed.

"How do you do it?" she asked.

"You know. A dash of arrogance, a pinch of stupidity, a smidgen of-"

"No. I mean how do you spend all your time at work with the worst of the worst and still stay a decent human being?"

I eyed her in the mirror, trying to size up her mood, but pretended to be focused on my wound. I decided to go with humor. I didn't think she _really_ wanted me to launch into an explanation.

" '_Decent_'? I'm _stellar_."

She had a bit of a smile. "You're _adequate_." A nice, lukewarm word.

"I'm unbelievable."

"You're _okay,_" she conceded.

"I'm exceptional."

"I can take you or leave you." By now she almost had a grin. An oasis in the desert.

"I'm," I said, turning to look at her and leaning back against the vanity, "the king of the world."

"You'll _do_." She shrugged, and turned to go, but I snagged her sleeve and pulled her over to me. She let me, but she was a little like a rag doll, just going along with it. She might as well have stood there with her arms at her sides. I released her. And all the frustration of the last week flooded me: losing Susanne, Kate's refusal to look to me for support, my inability to even talk to her about it, having to try to guess how she'd react to _anything, _and, worst of all, the feeling of powerlessness_._

"What the hell is your problem? You're talking to me, smiling at me, but you can't stand to let me touch you! What the hell did_ I_ do to _you_ today? It's like living with Sybil! I never know which Kate I'm going to be dealing with at any given moment! I can't stand having to guess: Gee, are _gummy bears _going to set her off today?!" I just wanted my wife back. My easy-going yet precise, level-headed wife.

She listened silently to my tirade, swallowed hard and just stared at me for a minute, then she said, without emotion: "So, you'll be going to work _early _today, then?" It sounded more like a command than a recommendation. And it bothered me that I couldn't read her eyes. But her mouth was a grim, tight line. It occurred to me that this might be worse than the mood swings.

"Yeah." I said. "_Oh_, yeah**_."_**

She turned to go and I kicked the bathroom door shut hard.


	8. CH8 You May Ask Yourself

I felt terrible.

I'd worked so hard to keep Maurice from being distracted at work by his home life, and I had driven him off both angry _and _distracted.

At least he had a regular partner now. Someone who knew him, who could watch out for him.

Jerry was still trying to figure out how to _deal _with him, but he was a really, _really _nice guy.

Like Nicer-Than-Ty nice.

Too-good-to-be-true make-you-wanna-puke nice. Whenever he came by the apartment my instinct was to pat him on the head and give him cookies. Maurice came home more than once saying how he felt like he'd spent the day in 'Candyland'.

I was a complete utter absolute total _idiot_. I'd been acting as though I was the only one affected by Susanne, throwing a temper tantrum because I couldn't go to work...

Maurice hadn't _seemed_ to be affected, so I'd just assumed he wasn't. But he just wasn't _talking _about it.

I knew I'd been more than moody – I could feel it, I just couldn't help myself. Even when I knew it was happening I couldn't stop it. I felt insane. He'd basically called me a psycho, so he obviously saw it, too.

There was one time he'd been in the shower and I was doing the breakfast dishes, listening to the radio and I'd gone from furious to crying to laughing, all in the span of five minutes. I knew it would balance itself out in time, but what do I do in the meantime to make myself a rational human being again?

I'd been angry about him leaving me alone that night, but in retrospect, it was really just his way of dealing with it. He'd needed the time and space, and how could I fault him for that?

But he was right about me not wanting to be touched. How could I let him touch me? I was defective – I'd somehow managed to kill our baby. How could he even stand to be near me? I couldn't even stand being near _myself_.

How did I get here?

* * *

Once the kids were down for their afternoon naps I tried to keep busy by cleaning and organizing things, but eventually that wore thin.

My attention kept going back to my laptop, which had remained closed for nearly a week.

Who would know?

I could get a head start on things I knew I'd have to work on in the coming months.

I opened it up and got it running, poured another cup of coffee and settled in.

First I checked my personal e-mail. Just one forward from Rose, from two days earlier. It was something inspirational, which I wasn't in the mood for. But it was sweet and thoughtful of her.

Then I logged into the system from work and immediately got an IM.

_BriBri: What are you doing?_

**What are you, the work police?**

_What are you doing?_

**I'm just checking my e-mail. It's been a week.**

_Like hell. I know you better than that._

**Guilty. But I plead 'diminished capacity'. I'm mentally unfit.**

_Bull._

**Intoxication defense?**

_:/ Unlikely._

**Just going nuts and if I don't do something I'll end up painting another room?**

_See? All I wanted was a little honesty. Do what you need to do. I'm shocked that it took you this long._

(pause)

_I want to give you something to think about over the next couple of weeks – we can talk about it when you come back._

**What?**

_Things are beyond stale – the same old articles about the same old things. This magazine isn't much different from that one, and the paper, and the other things….anyway, I was looking for a way to shake things up_

_**And? **_

_Seems there was this investigative journalist from Chicago who did some amazing work uncovering some unbelievable things a few years back. Name's Kate Rogers. Ever heard of her?_

**Doesn't ring a bell.**

_Why didn't you tell me? You've been wasting your time on all this fluff…_

**That was a long time ago.**

_Have you ever thought about going back into that kind of thing? You were really good._

**I have two kids – I can't go around mixing it up with the dregs of society anymore. I leave that to Maurice. He's single-handedly reduced crime in NYC by a startling 87% this week alone, BTW. **

**In case you missed the memo.**

_I'm just asking that you think about it. Talk to Maurice about it .Obviously the work would be more rigorous, and the hours a little less predictable. See what he thinks. I bet he'd be an invaluable resource._

**I tell him that all the time: "Honey, you're an invaluable resource."**

_Wow. Can he handle that much romance? _

_Promise me you'll think about it._

**Scout's honor.**

_Please. __YOU __were a Girl Scout?_

**Cub.**

_I mean it. Tell me you'll think about it._

**It will be the only thing on my mind for the next two weeks.**

_Can you just stop being Kate for a minute and tell me what I want to hear?_

**I promise.**

Total lie.

_Thank you. Now go do what you've got to do, but if I check back and you're still logged in an hour from now I'm going to tell on you._

**He doesn't care. He's reading over my shoulder.**

_Liar._

**You say that as though you know me.**

_One hour._

**You're not the boss of me! **

**Oh.**

_I __will__ call the police on you._

**Generally, they prefer to **_**quell**_** domestic situations, not generate them.**

_You working would cause a domestic situation??_

**No. Maurice trying to stop me would cause a domestic situation.**

Long pause.

_Are you two okay? I know this is a tough time, but you've got to stick together._

**We're fine, but thanks for the concern, Cliché Guy.**

_Let me know if you need anything._

There was only one thing I needed from him:

**Great! Then I'll see you Monday?**

_Absolutely not. Security has your picture._

**I'm a master of disguise.**

_You can't even disguise your __moods__!_

**Shut up!**

_Insubordination! That's another week at home!_

**The 8****th**** Amendment protects me against cruel & unusual punishment.**

_Only by the legal system. I can pretty much do what I want. Besides, Maurice decides when you come back._

What?

**What?**

_I told him to let me know when he felt you were ready to come back._

**I'm ready ****now****.**

I wasn't, but he didn't need to know that.

No response.

**Fine. 'Simon says' I'm ready to come back now.**

_Do what you need to do. I'm setting the timer now. Not kidding._

**I'm not going to be your friend anymore. **

But he was already gone.

* * *

Two hours later I finally had to shut things down because Mikey had awakened and was cawing "Ma!" Apparently he wasn't in the mood to climb out of his crib on his own.

I brought him out and settled him in his high chair.

"Snack?"  
"_Recess_."

"Not now. Snack." I corrected and he fell silent and pouty.

"Granny Smith apples…" I enticed him, and that bought me a smile. I used crayons and paper to occupy him while I quickly diced his apple.

When I turned around to place the paper plate in front of him, Super Stealth Amanda was sitting in the chair next to him, already coloring something of her own. Usually Mikey announced her presence with delight. He couldn't say 'Amanda' so he called her 'Ah-da'.

"Hi, sweetie. Snack?"

She looked up at me, then back down at the paper. "No, thank you, Mommy." She was beginning the make me think we'd gone a little overboard on the etiquette lessons.

"This is it before dinner." I reminded her.

"I'm fine, thank you." She replied and took the blue crayon right out of Mikey's hand. Instead of screeching, he pushed the rest of the crayons toward her and started eating his apples. He'd give her anything she wanted. The love went both ways.

We made little animal shapes with colored sugar cookie dough and baked them, although I was worried Mikey had eaten too much of the raw dough. He'd wait until my back was turned and stuff some in his mouth, but he wasn't too good on the portion control. Most of the time I was able to get him to spit it out into my hand, but he'd occasionally gulp enough down to nauseate _m_e_._

The rest of the day went quickly even though they were too wound up and to go to bed on time. Apparently, they had napped a little too much. I was disappointed; I'd been hoping to get more work done before Maurice got home.

I was also hoping he'd want to talk – that we could straighten out what had happened earlier. I figured I had an apology or two to make.

By the time I got them both to sleep it was after eleven.

I rifled through the closet for pajamas.

It wasn't cool enough for flannel yet, but I found a pair of long-sleeved navy satin pj's I'd forgotten I owned. I also found a bag of undergarments from Victoria's Secret that I'd bought just before I'd found out I was pregnant with Susanne. I'd set them aside, tags and all, because I knew it was a matter of weeks before they'd annoy me by feeling too constricting across my stomach. Guess I'd be able to take those out pretty soon. I threw the bag on the floor by the dresser so I'd remember to go through them tomorrow.

I put on the pj's and some slippers and went out to read on the sofa, waiting for Maurice.

It was after one when he got home. I had fallen asleep with my book on my chest. He woke me up by tossing his keys on the end table, then stripped off his jacket and threw it on the armchair next to the fireplace, something he knew annoyed me.

"You're late." I was more than a little groggy.

"Went to see my girlfriend." Translation: Had a couple with the guys after work. He headed out to the kitchen.

"Are you limping?"

"No."

"You _are_!" I sat up, suddenly fully awake. "You're _limping_. What did you do?"

"Nothing." He was peering into the fridge. Finally, he admitted, "I stepped off the curb wrong."

There was apparently nothing in there that he wanted. He shut the door and started opening and closing drawers. He wasn't looking for anything specific, he was just restless.

"Not buying it."

"_Fine_." He came back out into the living room. "I was after somebody and I hurt myself 'cause I'm _stupid_. O_kay_?!" He moved toward the bedroom.

"You can't work like that!" I objected.

He stopped at the bedroom door. "I'll have to. I took a double tomorrow."

"_Tomorrow?" _I couldn't breathe.

He nodded.

"Tomorrow." I repeated.

"Tomorrow." He confirmed matter-of-factly. Almost grimly.

"Did you do this on purpose?"

"Yeah. I completely reorganized the cosmos so there would be a double available _just _for me on 9/11."

I was pretty much speechless. He knew how I felt.

He shrugged. "You don't want me around, I won't be around. Gotta sleep. 'Night." He shut the door.

He quickly opened it again and stuck his head out.

"You re-arranged the _junk drawer_? _Really_?"

I could only nod.

"Who _**does **_that?" Incredulous annoyance. He shook his head and shut the door again. Firmly.

I deserved a terse and angry Maurice. But working on 9/11? He might as well have spit in my face.

It seemed that I had two options: I could cry myself to sleep on the couch. Or, I could go back to work, since Maurice had gone to bed and it was a pretty good bet Brian was in dreamland as well. No way I could get caught.

So I went to work.

With a glass of wine as my accomplice.

9/11 and Susanne. Bookends to a week that barely seemed to exist.

I suddenly wanted to go back – to put all the walls back up so everything wouldn't hurt so much.

How did I get _here_?


	9. CH 9 Alone

Maurice was long gone by the time Mikey came in to wake me up. I pulled him into the bed for a snuggle and we were both able to doze for another hour.

I finally dragged myself out of bed, spurred by the sound of the television, which meant Amanda was awake and probably watching _Beauty and the Beast_. I wondered how long she'd been up. Mikey was still sound asleep, so I left him in the bed, carefully tucking the covers around him. It probably meant another late night, but I needed to get my head together.

"Morning, honey." I said to Amanda, who was already dressed and ready for the day, and I patted her head as I passed her on my way to the kitchen. There was a spoon sitting in a plastic bowl in the sink. She'd been up long enough to have eaten cereal.

Maurice had apparently made coffee hours earlier, but I dumped it in the sink and brewed a fresh pot. Acidic, bitter, burnt coffee was impossible for me to drink. It didn't seem to bother Maurice, but he'd been drinking bad coffee at work forever.

As it brewed I looked out the window over the sink. A rainy, grey day. Perfect for staying in and moping.

"Mommy?" Amanda's voice so close next to me made me jump, and that made her laugh, which made me smile.

"Yes?"  
"Are we going to Home Depot again today?" she asked eagerly. They loved the Home Depot. The attraction was the shopping cart with the orange plastic car attached to it. Amanda would 'steer' while Mikey would make motor sounds. The carts were unwieldy and heavy and I'd inevitably run into something and tell Amanda she was a terrible driver.

I looked around at the kitchen, then out at the living room. They could definitely use a fresh coat of paint…but not today.

"I don't think so, honey. Maybe sometime next week. But why don't you get the Sherwin Williams fan deck and look at colors for the kitchen and living room?"

Her eyes brightened and she tore off, excited to be let in on the decorating decisions. She sat on the couch and spread the thing into an actual fan.

We were lucky to have one. They were stingy with the things, reserving them for contractors and major customers, but I hadn't wanted to have 150 separate color strips floating around. We'd only been able to get a fan deck because Maurice had started a conversation with the guy and told him he'd managed a Sherwin store in central Massachusetts just after college.

"You lied!" I'd exclaimed after we'd left the store. He'd shaken his head. " Call it 'performance art'."

So we used it to choose all our colors. Most stores could match them.

The coffee was ready, so I poured myself a cup, went to my desk and opened my laptop. Usually on the anniversary of 9/11 I'd watch news footage of the day itself, in real time, either on a TV channel that was broadcasting it, or on the internet, and end up crying my eyes out. It was a catharsis.

But I had no stomach for it this morning.

I'd done more than enough crying in the past week, and the thought of deliberately depressing myself was too much.

The dreams I'd had last night had been bad enough. First Maurice had been killed in a fuel truck roll-over. Inexplicable and illogical, why he would be on the Taconic Parkway. Then I'd dreamed of him as Evan: an oppressive, infernal Behemoth, pinning me, suffocating me. That had awakened me, heart pounding, where I'd inadvertently fallen asleep on the couch, and I'd gone in to bed, working my way as close to him as I could without waking him up.

The laptop, as sluggish as I felt, finally came to life and I glanced over at Amanda before settling in. She was half-singing along to a song in the movie and flipping through color swatches, carefully fanning out the ones that held her choices.

I logged in to the work site and, again, instantly got an IM from Brian.

_Have you seen the main page?_

**No.**

_KO!_

**I think it's actually 'O.K.'…**

_No! Your 9/11 column ran today. Knock-Out! Go look at the comments!_

**I'm really not in the mood right now – I'll check later.**

_Something wrong?_

**Just the day. And Maurice has a double.**

_I thought you didn't allow him to work on 9/11._

**Yeah. ****You**** try telling him anything. **

I heard the light thud of Mikey's feet hitting the floor as he slid off the bed.

**GTG. I'll check in later.**

_O_

_K_

* * *

I set Mikey in his high chair and set about preparing him breakfast, even though it was closer to lunch time. He wanted oatmeal, his favorite. I nuked it and let it cool a bit before setting it in front of him. And I noticed that his eyes were as clear and pure as the sky had been that September day. And it made me unbearably sad to connect something so vivid, vibrant and alive with such tragedy.

I'd been working at home that day, with the TV on for background noise.

I remembered the panic – the need to _move, _the need to _do _something, and yet there'd been nothing to be done. The need to _run_, yet there'd been nowhere to run to. The desire to call everyone I knew to be certain they were alive and well. Yet who had I known, really? I'd felt an emptiness knowing that others could fill their hours by calling friends and acquaintances. To make sure everyone was all right and to have relief, or to fill themselves with doubt and uncertainty. All I had was the emptiness.

And the relief, paired with guilt, that the horror hadn't touched me – at least not directly.

The guilt was unbelievable. So much loss. So much devastation. So much tragedy.

So many victims. So many sacrifices.

So many lives changed in minutes and mine had stayed almost exactly the same.

I hadn't experienced _any_ of the nightmare. None of it. Not the sight or sound of human flesh meeting concrete, not the scent of the charred human bodies and burning jet fuel, not even the sensation of the crushing clouds of dust and debris.

I'd never felt so empty and alone. And I never had since.

Until now.

And today's grey sky reminded me of those grey clouds of dust, all clarity gone…obscured.

Honestly, my first instinct had been to go down there to help. To act. To dig. But I had waited. And by that time I knew I would only be digging for death.

I knew Maurice had been there and I couldn't help but wonder what things would be like if I'd actually gone and had somehow met him there, rather than the way I did a year and a half later…how would things have been different…?

"Ma!"

Mikey snapped me back to reality.

"Dun." He indicated his empty bowl. "Mook."

Milk.

I cleared his bowl and rinsed it in the sink then filled a sippy cup with milk. I handed it to him, then set him on his feet on the floor, pointed in Amanda's direction.

"Don't go too far – that diaper isn't going to hold too much more and you need a bath." I called after him.

"Baf." He repeated.

* * *

I'd decided since it was a grey day and since Maurice wasn't around, I'd stay in my pajamas, hair in a ponytail, and just veg with the kids.

We were into our second game of Chutes and Ladders when someone knocked on the door.

Since visitors had to be buzzed in at the entrance, I assumed it was the building super and opened the door.

It was Brian.

He didn't comment on how I was dressed, just shoved the bag he was carrying at me and walked into the room, arms spread wide, bellowing, "Who wants to help me build a castle and slay a dragon?"

The response was instant. Amanda nearly knocked him down and Mikey squealed in frustration because he couldn't free himself from the high chair. I set the bag on the table and released him.

"What's this?" I asked, indicating the bag.

"Lunch." He said. Amanda had launched from the couch and was on his back, clinging like a koala to a tree. Mikey was sitting on his foot, arms wrapped around his calf, legs around his ankle.

I emptied the bag onto the table.

He'd gotten chicken tenders and fries for the kids, and there was some kind of sub and a salad.

I started to say something and he interrupted.

"Before you get all crazy thinking I got you a salad because you're a girl, I thought we could share the salad and the sub, unless you _really_ want one or the other."

"What kind of sub?"

"Roast beef. What else is there?"

"Sounds like a plan."

While he entertained the kids, I cleared the game board off the table and set it for four, doling out the food, adding sliced oranges to the kids' plates. Milk for them, iced tea for us.

"Lunch." I announced.

When the kids were settled in I pulled him aside and said "Thanks, Brian. You really didn't have to-"

"I thought you might need a little pick-me-up today. Besides, after your success this morning, I wanted to spy and make sure you're not shopping around for a better-paying job."

"You know I'd never leave you."

We joined the kids and ate, Brian making Jim Carrey-style faces at Amanda and Mikey to keep them laughing. Just hearing them laugh lifted my mood immeasurably.

After lunch I started to clear the table, but Brian took the dishes from me. "Why don't you grab a shower? I've got you covered." He nodded at the kids.

Suddenly a shower sounded like the greatest thing in the world.

"Okay!" I agreed.

* * *

And the shower _was_ the greatest thing in the world.

I took advantage of the fact that Brian didn't know that I could knock one off in five minutes and doubled the time, letting the hot water work on my neck and shoulders. God, I was tense.

I dressed in jeans and one of Maurice's sweatshirts, clipping my hair up. I knew it would still be damp at bedtime, but I didn't really care. I just wanted it out of the way today.

Brian was on his back on the floor pretending to struggle against Mikey, who was lying face down across his chest and Amanda, who had his feet.

"Looks like the dragon's a goner." I commented.

"They've got me." He admitted, then sat up with an exaggerated roar, rolling Mikey onto his lap. The boy was all giggles until Brian started the tickling, then he was all shrill screams. That made us both grimace.

"Okay. Okay. We don't need the neighbors calling the police." Brian picked Mikey up and set him on his feet. Amanda backed off as well. He got to his feet.

"Wow." He said when he looked at me. "How old are you?"

What does _that _mean? "32. Same as you."

"You look half that."

Oh.

"No makeup." I shrugged.

"Well, you look great."

"Oh, geez, Brian, stop it." I said impatiently. "I'm not a mental case. I don't need to be coddled and falsely complimented and solicitously cared for."

"Sure you do. That's what friends are for. And it wasn't a 'false' compliment."  
I didn't want to have to socialize. Didn't want to have to make sure I had the right expression on my face, the right reaction to things he said. Didn't want to have him watching for it. I wanted to just _be_. And just 'be' _alone_. I suddenly felt really tired.

I pasted a smile on my face and put my hands on his shoulders.

"Brian, thank you so much for what you did. I truly appreciate it. You made me smile, you made the kids' _day_. I don't know what I'd do without you." Gracious, effusive thanks ought to get him out of there.

He gave me a slight grimace.

"You are so full of it. This is _me. _You can't just say that you're tired of me and you want me to go?"

"Brian," I rubbed my hand across my forehead. "I'm tired. Not of you, just tired. And while I love you to death, I'd really like you to go."

"Was that so hard?" He grabbed his coat, and the kids started their protest.

I managed to herd him to the door, where he said in a low voice, "I know a doctor."

"Really? That's great, sweetie." I patted him on the shoulder and he shrugged his jacket on.

"No. Someone you can talk to. About the depression."  
"I'm not depressed."

"Kate, you so are."

"What do you want? Me on 'happy pills'? Because that's something even _I _wouldn't want to see."

"Just talk to the guy. I want you back. I _need _you back. And that's not going to happen until I'm sure you're a hundred percent."

"Are any of us _ever _a hundred percent?"

"This isn't a joke. I_ will _conspire with your husband. Against you."

Again, I felt that stab of lonliness. Emptiness. Everyone I had in the world was turning against me.

I pushed him out the door.

"Goodbye, Brian."

And then I rearranged the living room.

* * *

9/12

I awoke with his arms around me.

Did.

Not.

Move.

Not until he did.

And later that day, I _did _go see that doctor.


	10. CH 10 Day By Day

When Maurice came home that night I was waiting up for him.

" 'Say hello to my little friend'." I tossed the little plastic bottle at him.

"I gotta tell you, the way you've been the past week combined with _that_ movie quote… I was expecting something a little more lethal. You're lucky."

He looked at the pill bottle.

"Zoloft." He read. "Isn't that for crazy people?"

"See, now , this morning that would have bothered me. But now I've got 'Mother's Little Helper'."

"Where did you get this?"  
"Brian recommended a doctor. Someone he knew. Got an appointment right away."

"I don't know if I like this. Where will you keep it?"

"Way up high. Cabinet over the fridge?"

"Put it in the gun safe. Amanda climbs like a monkey. And Mikey's not too far behind."

"Good idea." And it occurred to me that we were actually having a relatively normal conversation. He tossed the container back to me and sat at the other end of the couch, still wearing his jacket.

"Going somewhere?"

"No. Just wondering where you've been."

"I only went to the doctor's office."  
"I mean where _you_'ve been."

"Apparently I needed to crawl into a medicine bottle to find myself."

"You do know that if I'd recommended a doctor you would have taken me apart."

"Probably." I acknowledged.

"I think you should get out of the house more. You haven't been to the shelter at all this past week. Go do stuff. There are women's book clubs…maybe you could try one of those."  
"Hm." I nodded. "A book club. I think I saw a notice on the bulletin board downstairs for one of those. Maybe I'll give it a shot."

"And we could go out every now and then. Like we did with Brian and whatever woman he was with that week."

"Like a couples' night? I don't really know too many people…"  
"I met this guy at the gym. He and his wife seem nice. I'll see what they think. Maybe later this week?"

"Okay," I agreed cautiously.

"Well," he stood. "I'm going to bed. I'm still trying to catch up." He came over and kissed me on the cheek.

"I still have a couple of things I need to finish up."

"Don't be long. You need your sleep."

"I won't."

But I didn't feel sleepy and ended up working long past midnight.

* * *

Well, I _did _try the book club, but it was insane.

There was only one other woman close to my age. And they all seemed to _hate_ their husbands.

All they did was complain about them and denigrate them. And when the conversation wasn't mean, it was superfluous and dull. We never even discussed the book.

I couldn't understand the mindset of just focusing on the negative all the time. Sure, Maurice had his faults, but if I just sat around and dwelled on them, where would we be? They complained about the lack of romance in their marriages, but if I had to look at their sour faces all day, I wouldn't be very inspired either. And besides, telling me to go watch TV he'll clean up after dinner is a hell of a lot more romantic than bringing home flowers. I just wanted to scream "Shut up! You're _stupid_!" but I kept quiet and endured the evening. The mushroom puffs were pretty good.

And there was wine.

When I came home that Sunday night, I threw my keys on the table and huffed in frustration.

"That bad?" Maurice was lying on the couch watching TV, kids in bed.

"Horrible. Not an option." He moved his feet for me and I dropped next to him. "Just a bunch of hags bitching about their husbands."

"Well, didn't that give you the opportunity to vent?"

I gave him an exasperated look.

"I'm not going to play 'Mine's Worse Than Yours' with a bunch of strangers! If I'm ticked at you I call your mother." I paused. "She usually reminds me there's _something_ to love about you."

"Have you talked to her at all since you've been home?"

"Mostly e-mail and IM."

"What's 'IM'?"  
"Instant Message! We really have to get you up to speed technologically. I'd fall over dead if you _texted_ me."

"I can work the remote, that's all I need."

He thought for a minute or two. "You haven't been to the shelter at all. Maybe spend a little more time there? Twice a week rather than once?"

"Maybe you're right. I was thinking the other day about the fact that I go, but I don't really invest myself. I don't really get to know the women. True, a lot of them pass through only once, but _so many _return. I could make more of an effort. God knows, I could have used someone to talk to when….I mean, if I hadn't been so stubborn and independent."

"Yeah. Because _that's _changed."

"Are you kidding? I was totally and completely independent when I met you. _Now_ look at me. I can't even choose _throw pillows _without consulting you first."

"That's just _courtesy_."

I laughed. "You're right. I didn't really consult you about the bathroom, did I?"  
He shrugged. "I think I like it better."

"I've got Amanda checking out color swatches for the kitchen and living room."  
He sat up, looking a little alarmed. "Now, Kate, don't go overboard. I nearly broke my neck when you changed the room around."

"I forgot to leave the light on. I'm sorry."

He waved me off. "Forget it. I just find it ironic that I hurt _myself_ at work two nights in a row, then on the third, my wife manages to do it _for _me."

I winced. "Did you really get hurt?"

"Just a shin bang."

"Poor baby. Those are the worst."

He shook his head. "_Bullets _are the worst." He was smiling as though he thought it was something he'd never have to experience again.

And that brought back the icy fear. And reminded me that he'd removed himself from me on 9/11. Deliberately.

"I, um –" I said, "I'm tired. Those crazy women wore me out. I'm ready for bed."

"Okay."

I stopped at the bedroom door, about to say something else, but not sure what.

"Why don't you and Mom go out to lunch tomorrow? I'll take the kids to the park."  
I still didn't have much of an appetite, but I agreed.

"That can only be good for _me_, right?" He gave me a smirk.

"She _is _your biggest advocate." I agreed. "'Night."


	11. CH11 Comfortably Numb

We hadn't been able to get together that Monday. In fact, it wasn't possible until Thursday. And I was more than a little bummed about the fact that Rose's life was busier than mine at this point. Maurice was right: I needed to find an outlet...or ten.

We met for lunch at that deli Maurice had liked. We'd eaten there barely three weeks earlier. That seemed like a lifetime ago.

It was set in a very old building and the dark wood wall panels looked original. I liked the atmosphere: it was loud and busy. It lifted my mood a little bit, as though I were a part of the vibrant life bustling around me. Not exactly ideal for a personal conversation, but I wasn't too eager to have one of those anyway.

I ordered a cup of soup because I wasn't sure I could handle more than that. To my horror, Rose ordered some kind of salad with _no dressing_. I couldn't imagine trying to manage a salad without loads of dressing. I could eat radishes or celery a la carte, but not on a bed of greens.

And it was _huge_.

Just a huge platter of _dry _vegetables.

Rose reached into her purse and, to my relief, took out one of those spray bottles of no-calorie dressing and started spritzing her salad.

"I've lost fifteen pounds," she told me proudly.

"That's great. You look great." I _had_ noticed, peripherally.

"John, too." She added, and I nodded.

"Great."

_Grate_.

Small talk was going to kill me.

She was going to make me wait for it.

We chatted about nothing serious, but I knew there was a conversation coming.

And it wasn't _her_, I just didn't want to talk about _**any**_thing today. Or any other, I supposed.

She waited until our meals had been cleared away and coffee served.

"So," she said, stirring in a little sugar substitute while I poured half the little carafe of cream into my cup. "Tell me how you're feeling."

Leave it to her to give me an essay question.

Anyone else would have said, "_How _are you feeling?" which I could dismiss with a couple of words.

There could be no fudging the answers, but I was rapidly trying to determine what I could just conveniently leave out.

"Like _hell_." Was all I could manage. Well, _that _was honest. _And _brief.

"Mentally?"

"Yeah."

"Emotionally?"

"Yeah."  
"Physically?"

"Most of the time. Then I get these spurts of energy and do…_things_. But that could just be boredom because I can't work like I want to." Equal parts of resentment doled out to _both_ those men.

"Have you told Maurice any of these things?"  
"He lives with me. He knows." And I certainly wasn't going to tell her anything he didn't already know. I knew it would get right back to him.

Besides, if I needed a confidante, I had Sully. I'd sworn him to secrecy. He'd grudgingly agreed.

"He's not a mind reader."  
"Neither am I. He hasn't said two words to me about _anything_." I paused. "I don't want to bother him – he needs to be focused at work, not worrying about how _I'm_ doing."

"What do you _think_ he's been thinking about? He's gotten himself hurt twice in a week and -"

"Three times. I rearranged the living room while he was at work." I was trying to deflect the subject. To avoid the blame I deserved. And the guilt hard on its heels. She was right. I needed to go back to making things seamless and simple. I'd done a pretty good job of making him believe everything was fine for the previous two months, and he had no idea about that. I could paste a smile on my face while he was home and do it again. I could do all my falling apart after he left.

"I'll try harder to maintain the status quo at home." I promised.

"It's more than that. Things aren't as they have been."

"Okay, I've been a little moody-"

"Neither of you is communicating."

I could concede that fact.

"But I'd rather not talk about it. At _all_. And _he_ sure doesn't want to."

"He's talked to _me_."

Really? Well, she _was _Mom...

"He feels like your shutting him out. Like you think he's somehow to blame."

I set my coffee mug down harder than necessary.

"This is _not __**his **_fault!"

"It's not yours either." She replied softly, squeezing my hand. "Who are you blaming, Kate?"

Me. I'd built a baby that couldn't live.

"They wouldn't even let me see her." I said, and a tear leaked out. Dammit, Kate, stop this _now._

"Oh, honey, there probably wasn't – I mean, you probably shouldn't – It would be worse for you now if you _had_."

I swiped the tear off of my face and made sure there were no others to follow it. I didn't want her sympathy. And I didn't want _his _either. I didn't want sympathy from anyone. I hated being the person who had to see others with the "Poor Kate!" expressions on their faces – like the nurse at the hospital. Just thinking about it made me angry.

"Here _I _am telling you what _he_ thinks, and John's telling him what _you_ think – you need to talk to each other…"

"John's doing _what?" _I said quickly.

"Maurice went to see him about something and he said he told him some things but he didn't tell me what they were." She said. "I mean John didn't. Maurice did."

"Well, you tell 'John' that I'm going to be calling him and we're going to be having some words."

Who could I trust? Apparently nobody. I knew exactly what I had told him and I knew exactly what I hadn't wanted Maurice to know. Fan-freakin-tastic.

Obviously, I now had no one to 'go to' with anything. I guess I could stop a panhandler on the street and bend _his _ear if I promised him twenty bucks…I could almost guarantee _that_ wouldn't get back to Maurice. _Almost_.

"You really need to talk to each other." She repeated.

I shrugged. "It's a little late for that, I guess."

"If you're still hurting, it's not too late."

I had just about gathered myself together, certain I'd get through this, when Rose changed tactics on me.

"Maurice tells me you two haven't been…_close_."

I stared at her, frozen, coffee half-way to my mouth.

Was she saying what I _thought _she was saying?

She gave me a meaningful look.

Yeah she was.

Now, I know you can't control what a boy tells his mother, but this moment went beyond my wildest imagination.

How do you respond to that?

I looked around the restaurant to see if they had a liquor license posted, because if I was going to carry on _this _conversation, coffee was _not _going to do it.

Nothing.

Unlucky.

I cleared my throat and looked anywhere but at her.

"That's really not, um, something I'm comfortable…uhhhh…ahem…_discussing_."

"I'm not asking you to discuss it with me. But it's something you should discuss with _him_."

"May_be_!" I conceded, just to get off the topic.

She wasn't that easily placated.

"Men need that closeness. It's reassuring." And she went on from there.

If it had _ever_ occurred to me that one day I'd be having this conversation, I'd have buried myself in a New Hampshire landfill and never come back to New York.

This was so much worse than 'The Talk' with my parents. I was fifteen and had already learned it all in school, both through health class and hearing all the details of the real thing from most of my friends. But my parents had decided they needed to talk to me _together_.

It had been incredibly awkward, each of them trying to complete each other's sentences and to try to make sense of it to me. But I had endured it.

And I would endure this now.

And I had to remind myself that I wasn't a naïve fifteen year old. I'd _almost_ had three children.

Besides, she was speaking out of love. If I kept reminding myself of that, surely I wouldn't go insane.

Right?

You know how sometimes you suddenly think of things you _could_ say, and might _want _to say, but you just can't bring yourself to say them? Well, I'm not sure if it was the hormones or not, but I just spit it out.

I grasped her hand and _had _to add a touch of humor to it. "Have you always worked this hard to help your son nail a girl?" Like he needed help.

She blinked. Then laughed. Loud.

"Oh,honey, you are precious! I've never heard you talk like that!"

"You'll probably never hear it again," I said in disbelief, scratching at my temple, "This is really a special moment."

* * *

She came home after lunch with Mom, and she seemed to be in a decent mood. I still wasn't sure what to expect with her. I knew the upbeat mood she'd had after getting the medication probably had more to do with optimism at a possible solution than the medication itself. I knew it wasn't going to take care of everything. I hope she did, too.

She dumped her stuff on the other end of the couch, and I could see the smile on her face was a little forced. Amanda and Mikey had just barely gone to sleep, so I hoped their naps would stick.

Sometimes Mikey would climb out of the crib and walk out, rubbing his eyes. And we'd put him back and he'd do it again. His top score for that was six times in a row. I didn't want this to be one of those days.

I didn't think it would be; I'd run them ragged at the park. Unfortunately, that meant I'd done the same for myself. And a nap sounded like a fine idea.

"How was lunch?" I asked tentatively.

"Really, um, _interesting._" Kate said and went to the kitchen for a glass of water.

"What does that mean?" I was about to get up off the sofa and follow her, but she came back, leaning on the doorframe.

"Your mother and I," she rubbed at her forehead, as if baffled, and looked a little dazed, "had a conversation that I can't even believe happened. In fact, I'm hoping it was a hallucination"

I waited.

"It wasn't a lecture exactly...more advice, I guess..."

Uh-oh.

"She seemed to think that an evening of, um, _passion_ would resolve everything. She even offered to take the kids...whenever. Only I'm not feeling very passionate about anything right now."

She shook her head, returned to the kitchen, poured the rest of the water out and set the glass in the sink.

"I need a nap." She announced, heading for the bedroom.

I stood and stretched. "I was just about to do the same thing. Do you mind?"

She squinted at me. "That's a strange thing to ask. Why would I mind?"

"Because apparently I dragged my Mom in there with us."

She smiled ruefully. "It's going to take a while for me to get beyond _this _one. You would have _died, _being there!"

She drew the blinds. The day was overcast anyway, so it made everything appear to be black and white.

I kicked my shoes off.

Kate surprised me by putting her arms around me and giving me a firm but brief kiss on the mouth. She pressed her face against my cheek and squeezed her embrace so hard it hurt. The first time she'd touched me in nearly two weeks. We stayed just like that for a couple of minutes, before she loosened up and rested her head on my shoulder instead. It was another minute or two before she released me and took a step back.

"You okay?" I asked.

"No," she said.

"But you _will_ be." I finished for her.

"I sure hope so."

"Do you want to talk?"

"No. I'm talked out. I just want a nap."

"I tired the hell out of them. You'll get a good long one."

She moved around to her side of the bed and sat on the edge, removing her shoes. I debated whether to lie on top of the covers or beneath them. To me, a nap was quick and rejuvenating, and covers were for serious _sleep_, but I was pretty certain Kate would use the covers. We had enough between us, we didn't need four layers of bedding separating us as well.

She took off the v-neck sweater she was wearing leaving the pink lace camisole that had kept the 'v' from being too revealing, and slid in under the covers. She moved over next to me and rested her head on my right shoulder and moved her right hand to rest on my left shoulder.

I'd gotten my right arm around her, and used my left to smooth her hair, which still held its floral scent in spite of the time spent in the restaurant.

"By the way," she said drowsily, "I told your Mom that _you_ were the one having trouble closing the deal."

I laughed. "You didn't."

"It would serve you right if I _had_."

She was out in a matter of seconds.

Speaking of flowers, I wasn't sure what Mom had said or done, but she was definitely getting some flowers for this.

Kate wasn't a 'flowers and candy' kind of person, and thank God, because neither was I. Deb had been, and attempting to know _when_ and _how_ and _what _and _why _had nearly killed me early on until I figured things out. Turns out, she'd been pretty predictable.

Kate was more practical. And believe it or not, that made things more difficult for me.

Maybe I'd get her a bunch of carnations. She'd made the last bunch last for three weeks by snipping them and changing the water every other day. Roses always seemed to wilt and lose petals almost immediately.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and pretended everything was normal.


	12. CH 12 It's All I Can Do

When I woke up almost two hours later Kate was still wrapped around me, one of her legs threaded through mine, soundly sleeping.

I ran my fingers over her cheek, the line of her jaw, her neck, the collarbone that was becoming altogether too prominent... She sighed in her sleep and nestled in closer. At least she had peace while she was asleep. Except for the nightmares, which seemed to have escalated a bit over the last week or so.

"Ma!" Mikey bellowed, startling the living hell out of me. He was actually sitting on me. It was unbelievable how light he was. Kate called him 'hollow'.

He hadn't just crawled up here, he must have been sitting there while I was still asleep. I turned a little to look at him and that gave him the room he wanted and he wedged himself between Kate and I and went right back to sleep. Either that or it was a pretty good imitation of sleep.

Fine by me. I dozed again, too.

I awoke to a frantic Kate shaking my shoulder, whispering so she wouldn't bother Mikey. "You're late! You're late! It's four o'clock!" She looked so concerned and her hair was such a sweet mess I had to smile.

"Not today."

"What day is it?" she asked, sitting up, smoothing her hair.

"Still Thursday. Remember? Lunch with Mom?"

She shook her head. "I can't get used to this. If I'm not working five days a week, I can't keep track of what day it is. And your schedule's different every week. I feel like I never know what's going on." She looked forlorn and lost and rubbed at her face with both hands.

"I'll write my schedule on the calendar. In red. Every week." I promised, wishing Mikey wasn't in the way so I could draw her back down next to me. But he had my arm pinned.

"That'll make it easier," She got off the bed and stretched, with a huge sigh. "...to know exactly when I have to shove UPS Guy out the door."

She drew on her sweater, to my disappointment. "Better brush your hair," I advised her, "or you'll scare him away."

"Why?" She asked, pausing at the door, with a smile. "He's only going to mess the hell out of it all over again."

Not if I do it first.

I snagged her in the hallway coming out of the bathroom and kissed her minty-fresh mouth. At first she resisted a little then gave in and then apparently changed her mind again and pulled away, keeping me at an arm's length.

"No, no." She begged sadly, "Please don't. I-" she faltered, "Just please-let me-" She couldn't even complete the thought and ran her hand through her hair in frustration.

"Okay." I said. " It's okay." Hands in my pockets. Trying to touch her again would be a mistake.

She pushed past me down, now crying. "I'm sorry."

I followed her out to the living room where she was sitting, knees to nose, in the farthest corner of the couch, sniffling, with a handful of tissues because she hadn't been patient enough to tug just one out of the box.

"I'm sorry." She said again. "I just can't-" She stopped, then started again. "I'm always thinking about-" I was having a hard time grasping the concept of a Kate who couldn't seem to express herself.

I sat right next to her and put my arms around her and she tried to pull away even though there was nowhere she could go.

"Kate, please let me hold you. Because I need to. Because it's all I _can_ do. And you know how I get when I can't do what needs to be done." That brought a slight smile and she relaxed a little, resting her head on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry." And I knew she wasn't referring to what had just happened.

"I know you're very, very sad. And I know you're bored. And I know you're frustrated. I want things the way they were, too. But that can't happen. Just tell me what I can do to help you get back to where you were before we even knew about Susanne."

She pulled back a little and looked at me, aghast. "You just want to _erase_ her?" she asked angrily.

"No!" I said, raising my voice a little. But that wouldn't help _any_body.

"I just want my wife back. I feel like I'm living with a stranger." I said, in a more reasonable tone.

"So I'm just supposed to forget all this happened? Move on, like it was _nothing_?"

"No," I said, trying to keep the frustration from seeping out, "But you can stop acting like you're the only one affected by it!" Oops. And then I couldn't keep it in anymore.

"You think I feel _nothing_? Actually I don't have the _time _to feel anything because I'm so busy tip-toeing around your moods and picking up the slack! And what are we going to tell Amanda? You've lost so much weight in the last two weeks - you think she hasn't noticed? While you were gone she asked me why the baby was _hiding! _What do we tell _her_? Or, better yet, what do _I _tell her, because I don't want a medicated lunatic doing it!" By this time I was standing, my index finger right in her face. And I knew I went a little too far with that last statement.

The tears had almost stopped, but at the mention of Amanda, Kate covered her mouth with both hands and started crying again. It really hadn't occurred to her that we had to break that news to her.

That was her focus. She let the rest go, thank God.

I put my hand on her shoulder and bent a little to look her in the face. "Look, don't worry about it. I'll take care of it. I don't want you to worry about what to say." Maybe I could fix this.

She had pretty much wiped all of her makeup off with the ball of tissues. She looked up at me, but didn't say anything.

Finally, she said, "No. We tell her together. You know I don't just take the easy way out."

"Fine." I straightened. And she untucked her legs and stood, giving me a hug.

She pulled back a little and said with a slight smile, "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

Ah, she wanted a little alone time. "I was going to go to the gym." I suggested.

"When you get back, do you mind if I go to the shelter and get caught up on things? I haven't been since..." she trailed off, grimacing.

"Of course not." Although, I realized she'd be leaving me with two pretty energetic kids, based on the fact that they'd had close to a four-hour nap. "But can you wake the kids up? We'll be up 'til dawn if you don't."

"Sure." She said. "I need to put my Mommy face back on first, though." She gathered all the tissues she'd used. "Dinner at six?" she asked.

"Six-thirty."

She gave me a quick kiss and said "See you then."


	13. CH 13 How To Save A Life

I have to admit I spoke out of desperation when I brought up the idea of going out with other people.

I knew Kate was bored. I was just looking for things she could do – _we _could do. And having other people – _new_ people – to distract her seemed like a good idea at the time.

We had gone out a few times with Brian and his 'woman of the week', and it had been all right. He couldn't stick to one woman for very long, so it had been a little inconsistent. He was okay but it was always hit or miss with the chick.

Kate needed an outlet for…_something_. I just wanted to help her. She was all I needed. I didn't need to have a social network…never had. But she didn't really, either. The whole experience just seemed to frustrate her, like the book club.

Ron and Josie were the couple from the gym I'd mentioned to Kate. I didn't really know a lot about them, but we'd talked a few times. Mostly superficial stuff. We'd even had coffee once in the shop downstairs from the gym. That's where I learned he was an Economics professor. I didn't really know what she did, if anything, but from our conversations, she seemed to be well-read, and I thought that would give her and Kate some common ground.

I'd run into Josie that evening at the gym when I was on my way out and we'd started chatting. Ron joined us after a minute or two and he'd been the one to actually suggest we get together.

"Sure." I shrugged. "Kate and I are always looking for other couples to, you know, do stuff with." That was a complete lie, but they didn't have to know I was less than enthusiastic about it. "Maybe Saturday night?" I added.

They exchanged a look and Ron agreed.

That's when she started touching me.

She was chattering on about something and kept resting her hand on my arm, and standing too close.

That was uncomfortable and distracting enough, but while I was trying to focus on what she was saying Ron interrupted twice to ask me what Kate looked like.

I was trying to carry on a conversation, so I kind of ignored him until he asked a third time and Josie stopped her chatter.

She squeezed my arm.

"Does she have a nice body?"

Now, why would she ask me _that_?

And I looked from her, to him and back again. And she winked at me.

Oh, dear God.

And I just started laughing.

"I just can't do one damn thing right, can I?"

They looked at each other, perplexed.

I lied my way out of it. "We can't get together Saturday night! I forgot I have a basketball game." I started backing away, heading for the door.

"We'll have to do it another time." Ron called after me.

"Yeah," I called over my shoulder. "I'll get back to you on that!"

In the car, I rested my forehead on the steering wheel and laughed until tears came out.

Well, that had just taken care of every bit of tension from the past two weeks. God, I loved New York.

When I got home Kate was setting the table and I could hear the kids making noise in their room. It sounded as though they were building something and Mikey kept knocking it over.

Just seeing her made me start all over again.

"What's so funny?"  
"You wouldn't believe-" I began, but I couldn't finish.

She took me by the arm and guided me to the couch. "You mind sharing?"

Oh. That only made it worse.

I was finally able to get the story out, and I couldn't remember the last time we'd laughed so hard over anything. It even drew the kids out of their room, and they stood, Mikey with two fingers in his mouth, staring at us as though we were complete lunatics. After a minute, once they figured out we weren't losing our minds, they returned to the bedroom. It sounded as though they were wading through those big Lego's, ankle deep.

"Geez!" Kate said, chuckling. "What signals were you putting _out _there? I mean, what made them think you'd be receptive to that?"

"_No_ idea. Maybe they just suggest it to everybody and hope for the best." That gave her a hopeless case of the giggles.

"Or maybe they're just totally into you." She prodded me with a finger. Smirking. And stood to go check on dinner.

"Now I have to find another place."

"_Why_?" She paused at the entry to the kitchen.

"I don't want to be going there and having them think–" I paused. "Or think _he's_ thinking I'm even-"

She laughed. "Can you _imagine_ if we'd gone to dinner and they'd sprung this on us _then_?"

I could actually envision the moment:

_Dinner's over and Kate returns from a trip to the ladies' room to freshen up. Instead of returning to her seat, she stops behind it, resting her handbag on it, and her stance tells me she's got an attitude about something._

"_Hey," I say, innocently, hoping to smooth over whatever it is, "Josie suggested we go back to their place for a drink."_

"_Really." Kate says, and focuses her attention on Josie. "Because Ron caught me in the hallway and suggested __**so**__ much more than that. Give him a couple of minutes, honey. He's clotting nicely."_

"Somebody would have gotten hurt." I said. My way or her way.

"They _still_ might. I'd like to go down there and teach _her_ a lesson or two about putting her hands on you."

"You may not be qualified to teach. You're close to losing your 'expert' status in that particular area." I joked.

"What's _that _mean?" She asked defensively.

I sighed. "It was a _joke, _Kate. I deliberately misinterpreted what you said to kid you about the fact that it's been a while. I didn't mean anything by it. I thought were having _fun_."

"I'm so glad you can find humor in that situation." She stomped into the bedroom and back out with her coat on.

"I'm going. Dinner's in the oven. It'll be another ten minutes or so. I'll be back when I'm back."

"Kate."

"_Save_ it." She said pointedly, and shut the door behind her.

* * *

She left angry and came back crying.

Sobbing actually. And she was _really _late. I suspected she was hoping I would be asleep, until I went over to ask her what was wrong and she made it clear she wanted me to hold her.

"What happened?" I asked, hoping it wasn't so bad that I'd have to go back out and take care of someone tonight.

"I don't even know where to start." She said. I sat her down on the sofa and took her coat off. I threw it on the armchair next to the fireplace. She hated that, but I was pretty sure I could take care of it before she noticed.

The chair was the one thing we had in the Victorian style. Kate would curl up there every so often, late at night, by the light of the fireplace, reading Victorian literature and sometimes those mysteries set in Victorian England. It was her thing.

Some nights I'd watch TV while she read, some nights I'd just watch _her_. Those nights she sometimes had trouble concentrating on her reading. I treated it as a challenge. She'd keep glancing over at me. Ten minutes was my best time against a book.

"Let me get you some water." I said, and dropped the ever-present end-table tissue box into her lap.

I was gone for mere seconds, but she had composed herself considerably by the time I got back. I wasn't sure how this was going to go. The way she'd been lately, it could be that someone smashed one of her car windows while she was at the shelter, or it could be she'd just heard the wrong song on the radio.

I handed it to her and sat next to her. "Do you want to tell me what's going on?"

She drank some water and took a few shuddering breaths.

"Julia." She stated, and I sighed with relief. It wasn't an issue with Kate.

"Who's Julia?" I prodded.

"She's a twenty-two year old girl– she's been in to the shelter 3 or 4 times before but never like this."

"Is she homeless?"

"Not exactly. She's a-" and she paused, because she knew I knew what she was about to say. And she knew I didn't have a whole lot of sympathy for that segment of society.

"She's a prostitute." She finished.

I was amazed at how well I knew when her pauses meant she wanted me to talk, and the other times when she wanted me to stay silent. This was one of those times.

"She came in tonight-" she choked back a sob. "She was beaten up. Her face, her arms, her body…"

And then the tears started running again and I didn't even need to ask.

She saw my face. "Yeah. That, too. And he left her in an alley for dead."

I held her and let her pound on me in frustration. "She wouldn't agree to go to the hospital! She wouldn't let us do anything more than clean the blood off her and bandage her where we could. She wouldn't let us call the police either! She won't do anything about it! She's scared. She says he'll kill her."

"Did you get _any_ information out of her?"

"No." Kate said in a small voice. "I was the only one she'd talk to for some reason. I got the impression that I said something to her on one of her previous visits and she remembered me. I was with her alone and I begged her to tell me who did this to her and she wouldn't tell me. But when I told her _you_ could help, then she got really scared and shut up and sent me away."

'You did everything you could." I tried to reassure her. What she'd just said was a clue Kate hadn't yet picked up on but would, quickly enough, once her head cleared.

"She looked horrible. I know exactly what she's going to look like and feel like in a day. Or on the third day. And the fifth." She said through gritted teeth, then gulped down some more water. "The worst part is I couldn't bring myself to tell her. All I could do was beg her to go to the hospital so they could get evidence, and maybe someday -" she broke off. "She's so _stupid_!" She yelled in frustration.

"Who did _you_ look to for help?" I pointed out.

"That's different!" She objected.

"How?" I asked. "You gave up the career you built, left the city you were raised in, and the only reason you have justice is because some FBI guy wasn't sleeping on the job." And you held me back.

"_I_ was completely different!" she said angrily. "I _had _a career! I _had _a life! I had self-respect and I had no one to turn to. So I left and went somewhere else, so I could take care of my_self_. She has no way to make her situation any better."

"For starters, she can choose another career path." I couldn't help myself.

"She doesn't see any options!" Kate objected. "I'm going to help her." She added resolutely.

"Help her do what?"

"Straighten out. Get a job. She's not on drugs."

"Sure." I agreed sarcastically.

"She's _not_." She insisted.

"Look, I see the difference between the two of you. You're someone who goes out and takes care of things, does what needs to be done to get you where you want to be. Seems like she's looking to others to do it for her, and unless she does it for herself, she'd going to fail."

"We _both _ran away." She pointed out.

"You ran away, but you didn't give up. You not only survived, you _flourished_. And you not only got the chance to face him and call him what he was, but you sent him away defeated. And you got justice. It wasn't textbook 'Law & Order' justice, but it sure felt like justice to me. I think he deserved worse."

"I didn't flourish right away." She pointed out. "I hid inside myself for three years."

"But look where you are now."

"And shouldn't I try to help her do the same? To make a life in spite of …_it_? If I can do it, she can do it."

"You're different people, Kate. It all depends on her motivation."

"But it would help to have someone who knows exactly what you're dealing with to back you up and point you in the right direction. I didn't have that. You know – someone to tell you it's okay to be angry…"

"That means you'd be confiding in a perfect stranger."

"I did that with you."

"You weren't going to lose that gamble. I'm not so sure about this one. She could take advantage of that knowledge. And right now you only have proof she was beaten."

"I _talked_ to her." She said in a whisper. Then added, "She's not like that."

"Kate, you look for the best in everybody, even when it's not there. You think Mike Rockwell was a saint." Once the words were out of my mouth, I almost winced, anticipating her response.

But she just sighed tiredly.

"I'll think about it before I do anything." She promised.

A concession. "Okay…"

She stood, shakily, and I got up and handed over her ice-water, which I'd been holding.

"I, uh –" she began, and hesitated.

"What?"

"I spent forty-five minutes down in the parking garage crying in the car so you wouldn't see it and now I feel a little stupid about it."

It was hard not to smile slightly at that admission. But this was one of those moments where she did not want a response.

"Will you – can you – "She struggled.

"Anything."

"I just need you to hold me until I fall asleep." And I could see that she hated to have to say it out loud, and she didn't want to have to admit what she wanted.

"You bet."


	14. CH14 Chasing The Night

CH 14

The next few days were a blur. We never seemed to be around at the same time. And I'd noticed that, for the most part, she'd stopped waiting up for me. I'd find Kate asleep on the couch because she'd tried and couldn't make it.

Pretty soon, she'd just be in bed when I got home. Early on, she'd roll over and kind of hug me, half asleep.

Eventually, though, she'd just be dead asleep, curled away from me.

That had been the one thing I'd been able to count on almost every night: coming home to Kate. I'd bragged about it at work: "Yeah, my wife waits up for me every night. All you losers, your women are asleep when you get home." She'd made me feel special. Appreciated. Now I was just like everybody else. Like that last scene in '_Goodfellas' _when Henry Hill says all he's got is 'noodles with ketchup'.

She kept going back to check on that Julia girl. I wasn't going to stop her.

I couldn't blame her, after what she'd been through. She'd worked it out in her mind over the years, but I guess not in her heart.

How could I let it upset me that she desperately wanted to help someone who'd experienced the same thing? I was worried that she'd be taken advantage of and left heartbroken again. I just wanted that son of a bitch Evan no longer an issue, but you don't just marry the person, you get the past too. Made me want to dig up what was left of him and beat the hell out of it.

And that made me wonder what pieces of _my _past Kate could live without. It wasn't the women. Kate had made it clear that wasn't an issue years ago.

But I thought back to the moment when she'd asked me about the worst thing I ever did and I _really_ wanted to change my answer.

I'd been trying to shock her, to drive her away, telling her what I'd told her then.

At least that's what I'd thought at the time.

But if I really _had_ been trying to alienate her, I'd have told her the truth.

Because my worst thing was inaction at the wrong time. Yeah, that was what I had the hardest time living with. And I wondered, if Kate knew about it...could _she_ live with _me_. Especially now.

Especially now.

What a perfect time for all those old issues to be brought up. She sure needed that now.

* * *

I probably should have told Kate 'no hurry' on finding another couple to go out with. I wish I'd told her I wasn't really interested, because she probably wouldn't have done it. But she made plans with somebody from the shelter. Someone named Maiya. She was one of the people who ran the place, I guess. Her husband was some Wall Street guy. I'd complained that we never seemed to do anything with anyone but Mom and Sul. Did I feel like an idiot now.

They took the kids overnight, Mom being _super _subtle, reminding me to make it an extra romantic evening. Duh.

I was annoyed and having a hard time knotting my tie the right way when Kate came up behind me and helped. I should have known better than to try to tie it using a mirror.

"Jackets," I grumbled. "For weddings, funerals and _dinner_." _That's_ starting the evening right.

"You look fantastic," she murmured.

"You're married to me. You _have _to think that." I scowled, trying to make my hair behave.

"I so don't."

"You're obligated. It's in the rule book."

"Sorry." She didn't sound it.

I caught her eye in the mirror. She smiled at me over my shoulder.

"What are you wearing?"

She stepped back to show me.

Gulp.

The blue dress. Halter-style, exposing most of her back. Tight enough to give you a hint, but loose enough to retain the mystery. Devastating.

"You wore that to the-"

"Yep."  
I hadn't been able to keep my hands off her the last time she wore that. It had been one of her work-related events and we'd gotten caught fooling around in the coat room. By Brian and some girl, looking for some alone time as well.

He'd had the decency to send Kate home for the night.

And that had been some night.

"I'll give you a ten second head start. Otherwise, you'd better call your friend and cancel." I was dead serious. I could tell she knew it.

She smiled and, as Kate would do, stared me down for at least five seconds. Then she ran. I don't know _how _in those heels, but I heard the door slam.

The car would be warm.

Tonight, to quote the Ramones, is gonna be all right.

I didn't really care anymore if my tie looked okay.

Smile, laugh, eat dinner, then just a whole bunch of Kate.

How bad could these people be?

* * *

She was fine.

He was a snob.

_Beyond _snob.

Everything from his restaurant choice to the way he was dressed was designed to over-impress and even intimidate. At first I _did _allow it to intimidate me, but he was so superior and overbearing that it finally got to me.

He was a Wall Street guy who didn't, once, for a minute, let us forget it. He made insulting comment after insulting comment without even seeming to be aware he was being insulting. He made a crack about me being a blue collar guy – yeah, ha ha the uniform is blue.

He even asked if I was comfortable with Kate bringing more money into the household than I did. She had been about to respond viciously: I could see the look on her face, so I nudged her with my foot: "let it go."

She looked at me and all she said was, "That's a pretty big assumption, Geoffrey." She was furious.

And his wife was uncomfortable.

He made a comment or two about how 'guys like me' don't often encounter 'guys like him' in "our world" – And I swear you could hear the quotation marks.

Dinner had been served and I was trying to lay off it, but that just did me in. Any tolerance or patience I had was long gone, and I was so ticked I wasn't even thinking about ruining my night with Kate.

He had the audacity to repeat himself and that was just the last straw.

Maiya had the decency to be embarrassed and excused herself. Kate had been about to follow and check on her, but I nudged her .

* * *

Geoffrey was such a …God, what's the word? _Dick_. Maurice wanted to make him hurt. I let him.

I think I encouraged it.

And Maurice gave Geoffrey that smile. The one he gives when he's just about to take you apart.

This was going to be good.

I sat back, crossed my arms and waited for it. And I gave Geoffrey my most dazzling smile. Poor guy.

Maurice saw my smirk and I do believe he smiled at me.

"Actually, I work with guys like you all the time." Maurice said. And shrugged, conceding, "…Usually catch them with a hooker…"

That was funny. And this was only the beginning.

"But there are other times… Matter of fact, there _was _this one guy…" He paused. "Remember that blackout back in July? Lasted only a couple of hours?"

Geoffrey nodded, not sure where things were heading. And gazing around the room for his absent wife.

"There was this guy. _Just _like you.I think he may even have been wearing the same suit…" he trailed off. Then brought it back. "_Any_way. This guy had gone missing. Found him in a subway tunnel. Turns out he'd been on the train when the blackout happened. He was impatient – you know the type, waiting for us 'blue collars' to show up and _fix _everything for him. So he'd tried to walk all the way out on his own."

In spite of Maiya's absence, Maurice was sawing into his steak and punctuating his thoughts by pointing his fork at Geoffrey, who reacted as if it were a sword.

"Had a heart attack." Maurice amplified, getting attention from a couple of nearby tables.

"Found him _a week later_." He clarified to Geoffrey. "You know how warm and steamy those tunnels get in the summer Geoffrey? He was all _bloated _and his fingers were turning black, and the skin was splitting…"  
Geoffrey pushed his plate away.

"Body fluids leaking _every_where. There were maggots in his eyes, Geoffrey."

At that point Geoffrey pushed himself away from the table and excused himself, saying, "I'd better go check on my wife…"

Maurice looked at me apologetically. "I don't think they're coming back, Kate. Sorry."

"_Sorry_?" I'd echoed. "That was _spectacular_. " I grabbed my purse and rose. "I'm going to pay the bill and _you_, sir_, _are going to take me _home_."

"Wow." He said, tossing his dinner napkin on the table. "The perfect date. I'll get a cab. Meet you out front."

I paused, leaned in close and whispered, "_Really _glad I got the salmon." Patted him on the shoulder and went to find our server.

* * *

It was starting to mist. I was a couple of weeks away from a haircut, but I could feel it staring to curl from the moisture. I tried to smooth it out and paced the sidewalk waiting for Kate.

She came out seconds later, wrapping her black coat around her and giving me a kiss that was long, slow and deliberate. Then another.

"You know," I said, "We'd get home a lot more quickly if you let go of me and let me grab a cab."

"Hotel across the street."

"Impractical."

"Get the damn cab." She released me. It was the first time she'd shown any interest in three weeks.

I did get the cab, and we were doing a pretty good job of steaming up the back windows when I'd just had to open my big mouth.

"Are you sure you'll be all right? I mean can you-"

She drew back a few inches. "Of course I'm sure." She snapped.

She sat back, arms crossed.

"I didn't want to hurt you." I apologized.

"Then you should have shut up." She looked out the window at the rain, that was now pouring down, and hammered her fist on the window. "_Had _to bring it up." She muttered.

Way to go, Romeo.

When we got home she slammed the bedroom door with a finality that couldn't be overcome.


	15. CH 15 Break Even

In the light of day, my reaction the previous night seemed less than justified.

It actually seemed more pouty and self-indulgent than anything else. And I realized that in all the excitement of preparing for a night out, I hadn't taken my medication. And then it pissed me off that I had to take it at all. So, already I was starting the day in a great mood.

And Maurice hadn't come to bed.

Acknowledging to myself that I owed him an apology didn't improve my mood.

The apartment was silent, the sofa empty. I checked in the kids' room to see if he'd crawled into Amanda's teeny, short bed. Nope.

He wasn't here.

The coffee-maker was on, carafe half-full, and there was a note next to it.

They'd called him late the night before and flip-flopped his schedule.

Last minute. Nice. Somebody there sure liked him.

At least he'd be home for dinner.

He'd be ragged, but he'd be home.

I checked the clock on the coffee maker. 7:30. That meant it was, at minimum, at least an hour old. I was moving so slowly that I didn't really care. I grabbed my favorite mug from the cupboard and poured anyway, leaving plenty of room for the pint of cream I was going to need to mask the burnt taste.

And I just happened to notice, on the side of the fridge, right in the middle of all the magnetic business cards for car places, doctor's offices and restaurants…the picture from the 'Missing'poster that I hadn't shredded.

When we'd moved from Maurice's apartment to this one, it was the first thing he put in place. I wasn't sure why he liked it so much, but it was sweet that he did.

I took it out from under the magnet that held it and inspected it. It boggled the mind that the picture had been taken nearly ten years earlier.

I wondered where that girl had gone.

I tried to remember what it had been like to be her: happy, carefree, taking risks, open, enthusiastic and delighted to be alive. It made me feel old and dead.

And I suddenly thought maybe Brian was right about changing direction.

It certainly wasn't very rewarding to compare liquid soaps, or dole out advice to people too stupid to take it. Even my informative articles and opinion pieces suddenly seemed boring.

I remembered the 'thrill of the chase', so to speak. The hunt for scraps of information…building a case against a city council member who was taking bribes, or finding out just exactly how 'Dave's Construction' won the bid on the renovations at the state university…the rush when it all came together....I _did _miss it.

And the last three weeks had me feeling just restless enough to seriously consider being a little reckless.

I stuck the picture back up under the magnet and took one more look at it.

Maybe it _was _time for a change.

* * *

I picked the kids up at noon. Rose yanked the door open, fluffed my freshly shortened hair with a loud exclamation about how fantastic it looked, then preceded me into the house announcing how fabulous it was.

Amanda and Mikey were in a squabble of some kind, each trying to out-shout each other, only Mikey wasn't using words, so he was at his loudest and most annoying.

Sully looked like a migraine would have made it a _good _day and started talking over Rose when she not so subtly tried to find out how my evening with Maurice had gone.

"You don't need _details_!" he said, meaning _he_ didn't want to hear any.

He was as sensitive about that as Maurice was about him and Rose. Unfortunately, once Maurice had found out that was the case, he'd been merciless. The last time we'd all been together he'd waited until Rose had taken the kids outside to the ice cream truck, and, slouched on the sofa, tucked his arms behind his head, looked pointedly at Sully, then at the ceiling and started a monologue with the words, "You know what I like to do to Kate?"

It was immeasurably fictional and absurd, but incredibly detailed. I'd had to stop him when he started talking about sharp objects, lime Jello and circus clowns.

I started gathering up the kids' things and noticed that they had gone silent. They were both staring at my hair. Mikey backed away distrustfully. I should have known better. Any time Maurice grew facial hair then shaved it off it would take Mikey at least a day to warm up to him. This had to be overwhelming for him.

"I like your hair, Mommy." Amanda said, nudging Mikey, who stuck those two fingers in his mouth as usual. He just looked at me, wide-eyed. I was going to need help getting him into the car.

Sully actually had to carry him out and set him in his car seat. While he did that, Rose again tried to get me to spill details about the previous evening. Sully slammed the car door and looked at her. He shook his head at me. "Later, Kate," and lumbered back into the house.

Rose turned her attention back to me.

I said quickly, "I think that man in there-" I gestured at the house, "needs some of that _closeness_ you were talking about. Thanks, gotta go, have a great afternoon."

I kind of liked being able to turn it around like that, I have to admit.

* * *

When I got home the apartment was silent and I thought they were all gone again. Kate wasn't in the living room, kitchen or bathroom. I checked the bedroom. She wasn't sleeping. But the kids were. With the baby monitor on the night stand.

"Kate." I said into the monitor.

"I'm in storage." She responded, using the talk-back feature.

Our building used basement space for parking, so they had set aside tiny but helpful storage areas on each floor. She was just down the hall.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting rid of the baby stuff. Somebody somewhere can use it."

"Are you sure you want to -" I couldn't do this over the monitor.

"Come down here."

She couldn't either.

"Wow." I said when I saw her. She'd had her hair cut. Not as short as that picture I loved so much, but close.

She self-consciously ran her hand through her hair. "You don't like it?" she asked. It was clear she'd been crying.

"Kate, I can't find a thing about you that I don't like."

I could tell by her expression that statement meant a lot to her.

Now, if this had been a movie, the music would have swelled and we would have had a passionate embrace. But she was covered in dust and looked as exhausted as I felt. Ah, real life.

She had a pile of baby things she obviously intended to donate to some organization or another. There was also a black contractor bag two-thirds full of things she intended to throw out, and there was a stack of three or four old boxes.

"What are those?" I asked.

"Those are from your apartment."

"My apartment."

"Your original apartment. _Your _stuff."

"You didn't go through them."

"Privacy. That's not your handwriting on them."

It was Deb's. We'd packed a lot of things and were planning on moving me in with her gradually, after the wedding.

"You could have."

"I didn't want to find a picture of an old girlfriend or anything." She shrugged. "They're all yours."

She paused, and said with a half-smile, "But if you come across a fourth-grade Cub Scout picture, I really want to see that."

* * *

Maurice started going through the boxes, dumping a bunch of stuff into the trash bag. He took his time, like it was a time capsule.

"Is that a hand-made scarf?" I asked as he stuffed it into the bag.

"Yeah."

"Well don't throw _that _out. Let me guess, Grandma?"  
"Dominique."

"It can go." I conceded.

He riffled through the rest of the box and straightened with something in his hand.

"Oh. Hey." He said, with a smirk.

"What's that?"  
He handed it to me with a triumphant grin. It was a wad of cash.

Six fifty-dollar bills, to be exact.

"You stored _money_?"

"The money you gave me for the paint."

It took me a minute to make the connection.

"You've had this the entire _time_?"

"Yep."

"You are one stubborn son of a bitch, aren't you?"  
"You know it." He said, then nodded at the baby stuff. "Are you _sure _you want to get rid of all that? You never know…" he trailed off, looking a little grim in spite of his positive words.

"I _know_." I said. And whether or not there was a spark of hope in me for another baby I knew, deep down, it wasn't going to happen.

His face was partially obscured by shadow and I couldn't see his expression. I could tell by the tension in his shoulders it wasn't a happy one.

I stepped in close and ran my hand down his arm.

"I'm sorry about last night. I over-reacted." I said, and kissed him.

"Apology pretty damn near accepted."

So I kissed him again.

We were interrupted by an extraordinarily loud "Ma!" broadcasting over the monitor receiver I'd set on the floor. The kid knew to put his face right up to it. And shout.

"And I was just calculating the odds that any neighbor would be visiting this room in the next half-hour. They need a key to get in, right?"

"Oh, ewwww." I said, looking around at the dusty, cluttered room.

"You're covered in filth and I just came home from work. What's the difference?"

"Good point." I said, tying the trash bag and retrieving the monitor.

"_MA_!"

* * *

They'd had a shorter than usual nap, so we rushed through dinner and baths. You can't hurry story time, so we took turns reading, sitting side by side on the floor, legs outstretched, playing a tame game of footsie the whole time. Mikey had drowsed before Maurice was finished with the first book. When he was done, I complimented him on being able to pronounce the word 'terrible' and received an elbow to the ribs as a thank you.

By the time I had finished the second book, Amanda was nearly asleep, so I motioned for Maurice to leave and I finished the job of tucking her and Mikey in completely.

I staggered tiredly down the hall to the living room, where Maurice handed me a glass of wine.

He had the TV on, so we sat, slumped, shoulder to shoulder for a while and it was nice. Until we finished our wine and started sagging sleepily.

Just for the record, he fell asleep about a minute and a half before I did.


	16. CH 16 Touch Me

I woke up warm and comfortable, Kate pressing little kisses on my neck.

"Oh, don't do _that_."

"Hm." She replied, and continued.

"Seriously." I readjusted myself to move away a little. "Kids. Up. Soon."

"I need a shower." She murmured into my shoulder.

Sure. "So do I."

"As long as we're on the same page…"

"No no no no. _Kids. __Up__. __**Soon.**_"

She sighed and climbed over me, off the couch, and stretched.

"I slept funny. My neck hurts."

"You slept on a couch. On me. You expected anything less?" I paused. " I'll take care of that at nap time."

That made her smile.

"Coffee?" she offered.

"Always."

She skipped off to the kitchen. I sat up, rubbed my forehead. Ah, it was too early, and I didn't even know what time it was…but it was just _too early_.

I followed her into the kitchen and stood, hands in my pockets, watching as she emptied the old coffee from the carafe, rinsed it and added fresh water to the coffee maker.

I thought for a minute, not sure if I should even bring it up.

"Would you be happier if you went back to work?"

"Yes." She said quickly, turning, with a look of hope on her face.

"I definitely don't think you should… _yet_. But if you really want me to, I'll lie for you."

She looked at me for a moment, a blend of disappointment and contemplation. Then she drooped. "He'd know."

"What. I can lie."

"Oh, honey, you're sweet," she squeezed my face. I was getting tired of that. "But you are what you are. He'll see right through you."

"What does that mean? He's an honest guy-" I objected.

"Most of the time, sure. But he's as deceptive as the best of them when he needs to be."

"_When_? I've never seen that."

"I've seen it a couple of times, when he's had to negotiate for things. He goes to the brink of dishonesty, but stops there, just leaving the important truths unspoken, to his advantage. A lot of people do that."

"I didn't think he was like that."

"This is New York. Grow up." She playfully nudged me with her elbow so she could get to the sink to clean the filter. "You've seen him with his women – he's _so _deliberately vague…" she trailed off.

"Well, we've all done _that_." Did I really just say that out loud?

She'd gotten the coffee going and turned to me, clasping her hands at the back of my neck.

"You know, sometimes I wonder what I'd have thought of you if we'd gotten to know each other in a social setting rather than a…_professional _one."

"You'd have hated me. You _did _hate me."

She shrugged and stepped back. "I didn't _hate _you until _after_." She wiped her hands on the dishtowel. Then she added, "And _that_ didn't even last that long."

She put in the coffee grounds and hit the button to start the brewing.

And I wondered about that statement, exactly _how _long. Because I hadn't gotten very many details about the time she'd spent after everything, in Boston and New Hampshire. She'd made it clear there hadn't been anyone else. She hadn't revealed much more than that. But that was all I'd really been concerned about, anyway.

Now, I wondered what had gone through her head in the days, weeks, months following. I knew what had gone through mine, and that made me wonder how we'd ended up in the exact same place after two and a half years. Having the same feelings in spite of everything.

I'd had someone and she hadn't and we'd still been…on the same page, as she'd said.

To this day I couldn't believe I'd stopped my own wedding. But I'd just known it was the right thing to do.

And, in retrospect, Faith had been right about Deb – we – _**I**_ – would have been miserable.

I'd called Deb a few times, after, to try to apologize, but no one would let me talk to her and I can't say that I blame them. Or her.

I hadn't spoken to her since. Every now and then I wondered how she was.

"Kids'll be up any minute. Can I get a quick shower?" Kate asked.

I nodded.

She stopped at the kitchen door. "I think maybe you would have changed my mind about some things."

"I thought I _did_."

"Might have been quicker."

Maybe. And I wouldn't have gotten to know her the way I did. And she might not be here, as a result. She might have gone the way of the rest.

I was not about to bring that up.

But I had to ask her, because it was on my mind.

"Are you _sure _you don't want another baby?"

"Yes," she answered as quickly as she'd answered about going to work.

And disappeared just as quickly.

And her decisiveness, her certainty, made me sad and a little uneasy.

* * *

While she showered, I spent the time going over the whole thing.

She'd originally been angry at me because I'd interrupted her carefully crafted plan of escape and avoidance. Would things have been any different if we'd met some other way? Like on a blind date or something, not that I'd have agreed to one of those…

No, I decided.

She'd have figured me out in a second, crossed her arms in disgust and ignored me for the rest of the evening, completely uncharmed.

She'd certainly had been that night she'd been with her acquaintances at the club, although I really hadn't had the opportunity to try to change that. And she'd made it plain that 'social' wasn't her thing.

But she'd certainly captured _my_ attention. It was just dumb luck I'd run into her again, messed up her face and thought she was a man. You would think I would have noticed right away that she wasn't. But she was solid. Solid _and_ feminine, I'd discovered.

And remembering all that made me actually take a step to follow her, to accept her invitation, but as luck would have it, there was silent Mikey, fingers in his mouth, giving me a stare usually only achieved by evil children in horror movies.

"Hey, buddy." I picked him up and set him on the counter. "What do you want for breakfast?"

"_Recess_."

I swear. 'Recess' and 'Ma'. Everything else was unintelligible.

"Cheer –i-_os_." I enunciated exaggeratedly.

"No!" He exclaimed and smacked at me.

Well, that was new. Where had he learned that?

I straightened.

"No _Recess_. You don't hit."

He got all pouty. "Ma."

"No Ma. You're stuck with me."

"_Recess_?" He asked tentatively.

"No."

"Ma."

"No."

"MA!" he howled.

Kate had apparently gotten out of the shower and heard him, because she appeared at the threshold of the kitchen , hair wet and disheveled, and , most importantly, wrapped only in a burgundy towel.

"Mikey," I muttered, "You are so going to pay for this."

"What's the problem?"

"He tried to hit me." Again, did I _really_ just say that? I sounded like I was in first grade.

She stuck her tongue in her cheek and tried to keep a straight face. And tried to look stern.

"_Recess_."

"No." Kate said. "There is no _Recess_. You hit Daddy. You should go back to bed, actually."

A fine suggestion.

And I _almost _believed it was going to happen.

Until we heard Amanda shriek from the other room: "Mommmeeee! There's a bug!"

"That's all you." Kate said, scooping up Mikey. "I don't do bugs."

Ahh. Bug duty.

One paper towel & ten seconds and I'm a hero.


	17. CH 17 Love Me Two Times

"Hey, Killer." Kate said. She was dressed, curled up on the couch with a cup of coffee. She'd poured one for me.

I dropped beside her, sighing, and she handed it to me.

"Yeah, I'll bet that was exhausting." She jibed.

"I couldn't just crush it and throw it in the trash. She had to watch me flush it, so she could be sure it was _completely _gone. I don't want to have to do this every time."

"She's really going to be a challenge when she's older, isn't she? God, once she gets something in her head…"

"What, like he's _not_?" I gestured at Mikey, who I could see in the kitchen, sitting at the table, "coloring" and occasionally popping a Cheerio into his mouth.

We'd created strong-willed children. Who would have guessed?

"I told him he has to apologize." Kate ran her hand through her hair, which was still wet and tousled. She hadn't put make-up on yet, but I thought she looked great.

Amanda passed by us silently, in her morning mood. Mikey would cheer her up.

"I was thinking," Kate mused, hugging a pillow. "You have tomorrow off, right?" Her eyes were bright with expectation.

"Yeah…"I said hesitantly, pretty certain she wasn't about to suggest some alone time.

"I want to have your Mom over for dinner – they've been really helpful with taking care of the kids lately. I thought I could make a nice dinner..."

That was the _last_ thing I wanted on a Friday night off, but I grudgingly agreed and made it seem not-so-grudging – she was so enthusiastic about it.

"What would you make?"

"I don't know – soup, salad and something, but definitely crème brulee for dessert."

"Don't you need like a flame-thrower for that?"

"Just a teeny-tiny blow-torch." She laughed. "You think they'll like it?"

"Knowing you, the soup will be a meal in itself. But I think they'd love it."

I wouldn't.

Like I needed an evening trying to deflect Sully's pointed comments, needed to worry about him watching everything I did and said, judging it all. As though he'd kill me if I said the wrong thing. He was so protective of Kate.

"So, can I?"

"You don't need to ask my permission. Do what you want, just tell me about it ahead of time."

"Okay!" she beamed, and I found myself smiling in spite of myself.

She took a sip of coffee and looked me over. "Is it nap time yet?"

I glanced out at the kitchen, where the kids were working companionably. Amanda was pointing out something on Mikey's 'art', suggesting an "improvement".

"It is if we have Benadryl."

She laughed and tossed the pillow at me. "I'm not going to drug my kids!"

"That's too bad. They'd be out for _hours_."

She sighed deeply, thought a minute, then asked, "Do we _have_ any?"

I threw the pillow back at her.

"Knock it off. Wait for it."

"But nap-time and work-time are so _very_ close together-"

"Don't worry – I've got my priorities in line."

"But you'll be late to work again."

I liked that she knew that's what I meant.

"Very, very late, if necessary."

She started to get up. "Where's that Benadryl?"

I pulled her back down, right up close.

"I've missed you."

"Ditto." She said.

"Quoting '_Ghost_' has to be one of the biggest turn-offs _ever_."

"I wasn't quoting." She said, and kissed me lightly, then hovered there, inches away, gazing at me, lips slightly parted, with an almost- smile. It was almost an 'I dare you' look. As though she wanted to see which one of us would break first.

Some things are more important than pride, so I just kissed the hell out of her until we heard Amanda matter-of-factly inform Mikey: "They're loving."

That made us both laugh out loud, which earned us a scowl from Amanda. She thought we were making fun of her.

"Wuvvin." Mikey said with a grin, hoping we'd give him the same reaction.

"Game over." Said Kate, rising and running her hand through her hair, then mine.

"It's just paused." I reminded her. "We still have a date at nap-time."

Only we didn't.

After lunch Amanda spiked a fever and complained of a sore throat, and we had no medicine for that, so Kate had to run out and get some and by the time she'd gotten back, I'd gotten a frantic call asking me to come in to work early because some dumbass broke his leg.

"If I break _your_ leg, do you get to stay home?"

"I'm tempted to let you."

She sighed.

"Do what you've got to do. I've got UPS Guy on speed dial."

* * *

There were days I thought about giving it up, but never for very long.

This had definitely been one of those days.

When I got home that night everything was quiet.

I went straight into the bedroom for a change of clothes.

I could see Kate wasn't in bed, which meant she was either doing something in the kitchen or was in with the kids, as the living room was vacant. I probably should have found her first, but I absolutely _had _to wash the night off me.

It seemed to be an especially cold night, so I stopped to put some white socks on before going out to see her. No question, I should have gone to see her first thing, and she was probably ticked at me, but I'd _had _to have that shower.

I could hear her, now. Chopping something in preparation for tomorrow. I shuffled into the kitchen, hands tight, searching for pockets in my grey sweats that just weren't there. I tried crossing my arms, but that felt too hostile so I ended up just letting them hang uselessly at my side.

She heard me and checked the clock over the sink, but didn't say anything. A cool reception. And I was early.

"How's Amanda?" I asked. Maybe she'd just had a rough afternoon.

"Better." Kate replied. "Her fever broke, but she says her throat still hurts a little. We might end up going to the doctor tomorrow."

"Anything for dinner?" I asked.

Stupid. Of course they'd eaten _something._

She nodded at the fridge. "Nothing special. Amanda's choice tonight: meatloaf, homemade mac and cheese and steamed broccoli. How was your night?"She asked, largely disinterested, her tone telling me 'just because I have to ask.' Something had annoyed her. I needed to kick her out of this mood.

"Some guy peed on me." I complained, and even to me it sounded a little whiny.

That did it. She dropped the knife with a clatter and turned to see if I was serious. My expression must have convinced her I was.

"Well, in his defense…" she began slowly, trying to fight back a grin – one I suddenly, desperately wanted to see, "…you _can _be a little intimidating when you get going. To make a grown man pee his pants-"

"No!" I interrupted her. She didn't get it. "He just took it out and _did _it! _Deliberately_!"

Apparently my expression was just the right combination of disgust, disbelief and bewilderment. She laughed the way she had when I'd told her about Ron and Josie. I gave her a reluctant and wry smile. Sure, the laugh was at my expense, but it melted the tension. Tension I hadn't understood to begin with. The walls were still there, but it put us both in a companionable mood.

"I might be getting too old for this." I confessed, rubbing my forehead, still wishing I had the sweats with the pockets. She continued to chortle, and swept the chopped vegetables into a storage container, then rinsed the knife and cutting board.

I was hoping she'd be Lucy to my Charlie Brown, like she used to. Although Lucy gave advice. Kate just listened and let me work things out myself. I'd lie on the couch and she would play with my hair while I told her how lousy my night was and half the time I was asleep before I finished telling her everything.

She turned back to me, still smiling.

Urine: uniting families since the dawn of time.

"Well," she kindly pointed out, "you _are_ pushing forty."

"Thanks," I muttered, "for the reminder."

"But look at Sully." She added quickly. "It didn't kill_ him_."

"I don't remember anyone pissing on him." I grumbled.

Kate came over to me and wrapped her arms around my neck. "Occupational hazard. Haven't you been puked on?" That gave me somewhere to put my hands. She didn't pull away when I clasped them at the small of her back. Her red sweater was really soft and, dear God, it had been a _long _time.

"Only baby puke. I know how to avoid the other stuff." I stood as close to her as she'd let me.

"Are you really feeling old?" she murmured, her eyes roaming my face, most likely checking for whatever new lines were there.

"A little." I said. What was I going to say? '_No_.'? I had her right there in my arms. I wasn't about to do anything to mess this one up.

"Don't worry – I've always had a thing for older men." I was about to object to that label, but I thought that might be counterproductive. She continued. "You know, I was watching NCIS tonight and, you know, look at Mark Harmon…"

Mark Harmon?

"He's in his fifties and definitely still _hot_."

Mark _Harmon_? "You check out other guys?"

She just stared at me.

"_What_?"

More staring.

"I'm a _guy_." I explained. "I'm _supposed _to look. Have you read the owner's manual? Page 72. It's not only allowed, it's encouraged."

She just shook her head. The way Mom always did. Like when I shot that kid in the hand with the BB gun.

"Anyway, I would have thought DiNozzo would be more your type…" I added.

"Di_Nozzo_?" she asked, incredulous, pulling back a little. I held on. "A brash, cocky womanizer with authority issues and a smart mouth? Not my type at _all._"

"Not at all, huh?" I saw what she did there.  
"Not at all. No way." she said decisively, then conceded, "That's not to say he's not suitable for a quick-"

"Hey!" I interrupted. "Hey!" I Gibbs-smacked her lightly and she laughed. No more NCIS for her.

"And McGee's for snuggling." she added.

"You _never_ snuggle! You just roll over and fall asleep! Like a _guy_. " If I could get sixty seconds and three words out of her I considered it a major victory.

"I'll tell you what: tonight I'll snuggle." She was running her fingers through my hair. Gave me chills.

"Want to get drunk and fool around?" I asked.

"Absolutely. If you're nice I'll let you get to second base." she said.

"The very term 'fool around' makes that mandatory."

She considered that.

"So is being half-dressed." I added.

She narrowed her eyes and looked at me skeptically. "I'm not familiar with that rule."

"New York rules."

"You're pushing it with that one." She said.

"You can't get what you want if you don't ask for it."

"What do you want?"  
"I want you."

She pressed her lips to my cheek and whispered, "You've got me. You've definitely got me."

* * *

She was lying on me, hands flat on my chest, chin resting on them, looking at me with interest, as though I were suddenly indecipherable.

Her eyes were wide open. Unbelievable. The effort must have been Herculean.

"So tonight had you thinking of getting out?" Kate asked neutrally.

_Thinking_?

I was _thinking _that this was our first good day together in a long time and that tomorrow might just be _great_.

"Not '_out_'." I clarified. "Just going somewhere maybe more rural. Getting an actual _house_."

"Like _Jersey_?" she snorted, with humor.

"No! Upstate."

She had moved and was lying on her side, right up against me, head on my shoulder, my arm around her. The snuggle she'd promised.

"Small town sheriff?" she queried.

I shrugged. Why not?

She laughed. " I can see it now: all of a sudden you have to be the peacemaker because kindly 'Aunt Sarah' is ticked because Tom Long's prize pig keeps getting into her vegetable garden and eating her turnips. I don't know what's scarier: knowing you'd probably resolve the issue by shooting the pig, or the thought of you being _in charge_ of something."

The entire time she'd been running her fingers over my face, neck and chest, almost as if she was trying to convince herself I was actually there. Honestly, it was driving me a little nuts and I was having trouble focusing on the conversation.

"I'm in charge _here_." I pointed out.

"That's just what I let you _think_."

And _that's_ what I let _you _think.

"I could be the mall police," I suggested, just to hear her laugh, and she did.

"If all you got to do was harass teenagers all day, I don't think I could live with you." Ah, you've barely been doing that anyway…

"Are you kidding? I'd love it."

"Right." She said skeptically and then exclaimed, almost as an epiphany, " Oh!" She propped herself up to look at me. "You could be the guy that escorts those 'Wide Loads' – the pre-fab housing trucks – on the highway!"

"Life at thirty miles an hour." I mused. "No way."

"You're perfect right where you are." She murmured and kissed me. And I kissed her back and it was several minutes before I realized what she'd done. I wasn't sure she was even aware of it.

And it made me wonder exactly how much trouble we were really in.

In the past she would have given me her full attention, listening to everything I was thinking – and sometimes what I was feeling.

But instead of considering what I wanted, or even _thought _I wanted she leaped right over that step – the listening .

She absolutely knew I'd vent and be done with it, and she was right, but she was trying to get me past it without stopping to get the frustration out.

She'd bypassed the couch and gone straight to the bedroom.

As though this time she didn't want to do the work: she just wanted me past that point and 'back to normal'. To the place where I realized who I was and what I needed to do. _Had_ to do.

Who I was.

"Mm. Kate." I stopped her. "Not now."

"_What?_"

I just shook my head and gently moved her aside. "I can't." I said again, realizing that I'd probably just pretty effectively ruined tomorrow's dinner.

"I need to think." I said, by way of explanation, pulling my sweats back on. I got out of bed and put my tee shirt on, looking down at her.

She was _not _happy.

_I _was not happy. I needed to figure out if what she'd just done was deliberate or an unconscious thing.

If it was unconscious, it was disturbing.

If it was deliberate, it was devastating.

"Good night, Kate," I bent over to kiss her, but she sighed and turned away.

Hell.


	18. CH 18 Pretending

**My deepest apologies. I can't work with this any more. Dumping it and moving on.**

* * *

Kate took her time waking up and getting ready before emerging the next morning, which concerned me because if her dinner preparation plans didn't go precisely the way she wanted them to, she'd start getting agitated.

Add that to the mood she was probably in after the previous night and I was pretty sure I was in for a mixture of anger flares and icy indifference.

Kate was a minimalist when it came to doing her hair and make-up on any given day, so I was surprised to see that she'd spent a good deal of time on both. She was wearing a casual short-sleeved dress with a nicely nipped waist. The skirt swirled around her ankles, calling attention to the length of her legs. And she was barefoot.

Good God, I just wanted to mess her up.

Made me rethink my decision the night before.

"What?" she demanded.

"You look like a supermodel," was all I could come up with, hoping it helped. It chased the anger out of her expression, but we were still far from a smile.

Mikey was standing next to me on the couch, holding on to my shoulder and jumping up and down, juice cup in his hand.

"SupaMa! SupaMa!" he repeated.

That brought a pretty decent smile. She couldn't resist him.

She bent down and looked him in the eyes, hand on his arm to stop the jumping. "Thank you." She smiled. Then she sat him down, gave a pointed glance at the coffee table, end table then me, and added, "Be careful. Grandma doesn't like to see him with contusions."

He was a runner and he often lost control and went headlong into things. Up until recently he'd had some kind of bump or bruise on his forehead for pretty close to two months. As soon as one had just about healed up he'd get another. And it didn't matter if he was across the room or right next to us, it would happen anyway. He was like a little tornado.

And he'd howl but he wouldn't cry.

I made sure he sat and stopped jumping.

"Morning, Amanda," Kate turned to her. She was sitting on the far side of me, riveted to some animal show on Discovery.

Amanda dragged her attention away from the television and looked Kate over, then said softly and sadly, "Mommy, you don't look like Belle any more."

Kate arched her eyebrows. "_Belle_?" Then transferred the inquisitive look to me, silently mouthing "_Belle_?"

"She said if you were a cartoon, you'd be Belle."

"Oh! Well, that's really sweet, honey!" she exclaimed, making Amanda beam.

She turned back to me. "That would make _you_-"

"Yeah." I cut her off.

She smirked and headed for the kitchen for coffee, adding, over her shoulder, "I'm still waiting for _that _transformation."

"Ha."

She wasn't angry, she wasn't happy.

I could deal with that.

For now.

* * *

I herded the kids in to get dressed, nicer than usual because Kate had set that tone, then I sent them to play.

Everything in the closet dissatisfied me. I ended up with this off-white button-down thing with kind of a dumb greenish pattern on it. I didn't think I'd ever worn it, and I couldn't remember where I'd gotten it. I decided against rolling my sleeves up a cuff or two, even though I knew Kate liked that look.

She'd once told me she really liked it when a man looked like he was in the middle of a very busy day, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, shirt open at the throat. Drove her nuts, she said.

I'd informed her that I was absolutely thrilled that I could send her off to an office full of guys who looked just like that every day.

She'd patted me on the arm and told me not to worry, assuring me that my 'Harrowing Day' look won out every time. But still, these are little details a guy doesn't need to know.

The kids were starting to squeal and get really wound up. They were in their room, so I checked on them and asked them to keep things a little more quiet, but they were in a riotous mood that only duct-tape could conquer. I decided it was best to just let them be.

Kate was in the kitchen working on whatever it was for dinner. She sure was chopping a lot of vegetables.

"Whatcha makin'?"

"Pico de gallo," she replied then glanced over at me with a grimace. "Whatcha _wearin_'?"

"I don't know – I found it in the closet. I think you bought it for me."

"No _way_. Looks like something some long ago chick of yours left behind…"

"This is a man's shirt!" I objected. "Look at the buttons!"

"If you rolled up the sleeves a little it might look more manly."

"I thought that would make it look more _casual_ and you'd make me go change."

She turned to look at me. "First of all I think – I _think" _and she punctuated that thought by banging the knife handle on the counter " – you're old enough to dress yourself. Second, it's your mother. You could dress like Ming the Merciless and she'd still love you." She went back to chopping her vegetables.

No word on if _she'd_ still love me.

"I made flan for dessert - it better represents the dinner menu." She said neutrally.

Shrieks and screams from the kids' bedroom.

"What's with _them_?" Kate asked, responding to the noise from the kids' bedroom.

"Froot Loops and cocoa for breakfast, I guess. And the juice."

She gave me an 'are you kidding me?' look that had a lot of 'you'd better _not_ have!' in it.

"Relax. They had waffles and fruit." I assured her. "They're just excited. What's for dinner?"

Maybe I could turn an innocent non-hostile conversation about tonight into a conversation about _last_ night. Break through some of this.

"Well," Kate took a deep breath, which was a good thing, because she needed one, "for starters, I've got some chips with home-made salsa and guacamole. Then I'm making gazpacho for the soup, and for dinner I've planned a make-your-own burrito 'buffet' – with choices of shredded beef or chicken, and I even cooked some black beans with garlic and onion in case your mom wants to go low-fat vegetarian . And there are plenty of veggies to go in them: cold stuff like lettuce, tomatoes and avocadoes, the pico de gallo, and then I sautéed some yellow and red peppers with onion with just the merest hint of Splenda for a touch of sweetness. It's good that way. Of course, there's cheese, too – who can live without that? But they've just been working so hard at this, I wanted to make it as easy as possible."

She paused. Which was good because I wasn't sure I could process any more words at that point. She hadn't said that many words at one time in weeks.

"Did you get _real_ sour cream or just the low-fat stuff?" I asked, tentatively, not certain what else to say.

The look she gave me was as though I'd criticized her parenting.

She slapped me in the shoulder.

"I hate you. I forgot it altogether! Now I have to go back out!" She started scraping together the vegetables on the cutting board, and opened the cupboard with the storage containers.

"Stop it. I'll go."

She stopped. "Really?"

I nodded.

There was a smile. "Thank you _so _much! Okay, so we need both types of sour cream and I forgot to get low-fat cheese just in case, and you should probably get some _baked_ tortilla chips also, so they have an alternative to the fried ones…and then by the time dinner rolls around I'll _definitely _be needing a Corona, so you can get some of those too…." She trailed off, thinking if there was anything else."And a jar of the sliced jalapenos. Sometimes people don't like the fresh ones."

"Anything _else_? Should I get paper plates and paper napkins in case they don't like the _real_ ones?" I really had to find a way to stop my mouth. So much for that conversation.

Kate stared at me for a second then pushed past me. "Forget it. I'll go." I grabbed her arm, and she wrenched it away a lot harder than necessary.

Well, I didn't like that, so I said, "Kate, wait," and I grabbed her wrist. She tried to pull away, but I held on. She started pushing at me with her other hand. And she backed herself right up against the wall trying to get me to let go.

"Kate, stop."  
She didn't, and put up such a resistant struggle that I released her.

I took a step back. "Just make me a list." I said.

"No." She wouldn't look at me. Shook her head, staring at the floor. "I'm going out."

She went to get her coat, grabbed her keys out of the basket and slammed the door behind her. I stuffed my hands in my pockets and exhaled, wondering if I'd actually just seen fear or even a little panic in her eyes.

If so, I'd been the one to put it there.

* * *

What the hell was this?

I knew what they were like together and _this _was definitely not it.

Barely speaking, no eye contact, on opposite sides of the room…

I'd seen them sometimes at parties, on evenings when they were so busy they barely had contact and still it was there: that connection. Across the room, they'd reassure themselves that the other was there.

Other times, where she'd go, he'd wander along after her. Like a guard dog.

But not tonight.

There was a tension I couldn't describe.

Well, I mean, _he _was _always_ tense.

We'd be in the kitchen, grunting syllables at each other, and he'd be uptight as hell, arms crossed, feet planted as if it were an interrogation. But one thing I could count on: Kate would come in and he'd loosen right up.

The fact that he reacted that way almost made me like him.

Yeah, that's what I said.

I could respect the guy, but that didn't mean I had to put him at the top of my buddy list.

Even if I was with his mother.

Even if he was a good dad.

Even if Kate adored him.

Honestly, I never thought such a coarse, impulsive, temperamental nut job train wreck of a human being could evolve enough to hold a baby. I was still surprised as hell.

But you would think by now the guy would have learned how to relax a little.

He wouldn't even allow himself to snooze on the sofa after Thanksgiving dinner. He was always _on_. Always ready for battle. A walking electrical arc. You could almost see the sparks.

Even so, he'd developed this well of patience, or maybe she'd helped him find it, I don't know, but he and Kate never seemed to argue. It was always more of a good-natured verbal jousting.

I'd never heard them actually express love for each other. It was just something you _knew _when you were around them.

You could feel their contentment: it resonated. Like the solid, comforting, steady vibration of the Staten Island ferry under your feet.

Reassuring.

But not tonight.

Usually, they were completely comfortable. They had nothing left to prove to each other.

It was enviable.

And there wasn't anything 'cute' about it – it was just remarkable. I'd never seen anything like it.

Neither one seemed to dominate the relationship. If there was contention, both were equally quick to give in: mutual and unconditional surrender.

But not tonight.

There had been nothing between them – nothing at all. No secrets, no anger, nothing withheld.

It had been interesting watching two broken human beings become one whole one. They were so intertwined, it was hard to describe them as individuals.

Maybe that was part of Kate's problem. She'd thrown herself into her family for years.

And that incident in July had changed things for her. And even though she talked to me, she wouldn't allow him to see it. She'd occasionally revealed things to me, but she'd hidden more.

She'd been overwhelmed. Absolutely.

She'd come to me more times than I could count and I hadn't seen it. Everything she was hiding. The stress. The depression. The pain.

Nevermind Susanne…

Crap.

* * *

I could see that Rose noticed the difference in their interaction, and I took her aside and asked her to try to stay out of it and let them work through it.

As though she would.

I just wasn't sure which one she'd go for first.

He was sitting on the living room floor building Lego towers with the kids and she settled in next to them.

Perfect. And she gave me a look that told me to go talk to Kate, which I'd had every intention of doing.

All my life, I never had a partner who could read my mind like she could.

I went to see if Kate could use any help in the kitchen.

I asked her and she chirped, "Nope!"

Complete dismissal.

I asked her a couple of questions about dinner and _him_ and she basically just 'yupped' me.

This was going nowhere.

I got right in her face, made sure I had her attention and asked her what was wrong.

"You really think I'm going to confide in _you_ anytime soon?" was her snide reply.

Okay, I deserved that, but where the hell was Kate – this wasn't Kate.

Not _our _Kate. She was …unhappy.

Angry.

Bitchy.

I couldn't read where she was coming from and that was disturbing. Kate was usually an open book.

It was as though she was pointedly punishing us both. Distancing herself.

Her cell phone was on the window ledge over the sink and it started ringing with this eerie song. She picked it up, looked at it and tossed it back where it had been.

"Brian." She said.

I'd never seen her dismiss a call from work before. She was shutting us _all_ out, apparently.

"Wasn't that the theme from _Halloween_?" I asked.

She shrugged. "Yeah. Work."

"You have different ringtones for different people?"

She nodded and continued preparing the food.

"Do I have one?" I was just trying to be conversational.

She nodded again.

"What is it?"

"Are you sure you want to know?" She looked at me with a little bit of a sarcastic smile. Sadistic, even - wow, she was in a mood.

"I want to know."

"Call my phone." She said shortly and went back to her task.

She really _was_ trying to remove herself from us. I hoped she wasn't doing the same thing with the kids.

I gave her a stern look, pulled my cell out of my pocket and speed dialed her.

Darth Vader's Theme.

Really.

"Am I that ominous?"

She smirked. "Relax. You know I love you."

"Darth Vader."

"Would you prefer 'I Feel Pretty'?" she snapped, teeth clenched."Cuz I can do _that_."

Geez.

"Does _he _have his own ringtone?" I nodded out at the living room.

"Yeah. " she said shortly. "It just rings."

"No theme song?"

"No – whatever I picked would piss him off in some way, so I just left it as is."

"Kate, what's going on?"

"Nothing. _Nothing_ is going on. _Nothing_. If you want to find out how much _nothing_ is going on you can go ask _him_."

"Is there a problem?" I asked.

"Huh – a _problem_!" she exclaimed, rolling her eyes.

"Just asking, because Kate, right now you seem a little nuts. Is he screwing around? Do you _think_ he is?"

Because I'd kill him.

That made her drop the utensil she was holding, and she turned and actually finally gave me her full attention.

"No." she said, quite calmly. "No." she sighed and said again."I don't think that for one second."

I breathed a sigh of relief.

Mainly because he'd have probably killed me first.

"Then what's going on?" She turned back to her food preparation.

"_Nothing_." She said through gritted teeth.

"Is that a bruise?" I grabbed her arm and she yanked it back. "Is he hurting you?"

I knew what his father had been like. If he had _even_ -

"No - it was an accident." She dismissed it.

I supposed I had to be satisfied with that answer.

I didn't really think he would, but the way things seemed to be tonight, who knew.

"Look," I said, "You don't seem to be in the mood for this. Should we leave? So you two can maybe work things out?"

She slammed the knife down on the counter. "I _invited _you here!"

"Yeah. You're making me feel _real_ welcome."

I walked out.

This was _his_ issue.

* * *

During dinner my shirt became an issue , a n d apparently nobody liked i t , M o m was able to pinpoint t h e s o u r c e . Some chick named Jenna I'd dated for three months, just before I'd met Deb, had bought it for me. And I'd hated it at the time. Sworn that I would never wear it.

Kate gave me a carbon copy of my 'I win' smile. With a lot more sarcasm added. It was a good thing she never made me pay for the past...

But, hey . Thanks, Ma.


	19. CH 19 When It Rains

****

It pours...Thanks for the cliche & quote, Faith Yokas.

* * *

Dinner was a disaster.

Kate and I were at odds.

Kate and Sully were obviously at odds.

Sully and I _always_ seemed to be at odds…

The kids took their cues from all of us and spent the entire time agitated with each other, which was unusual for them.

The only person who seemed unaffected by the tension was Mom.

She was relaxed and outgoing, trying to draw us all into conversation, which really didn't happen in spite of her efforts.

After dinner Mom helped me get the kids tucked in for the night, speaking to them very soothingly, skipping the book and still somehow getting them to calm down enough to close their eyes.

Sully helped Kate with the dishes, and that effort was apparently very silent and strained.

I'm pretty sure he threw something silver and clattery back into the sink when Mom called to him that it was time to leave. And he stalked out. Like a bear.

Mom had seen what was going on with Kate and me, and had uncharacteristically said nothing about it the entire evening.

But when I walked them to the door to say goodbye and she whispered, "Be Calgon."

_What_?

"Take her _away_. Surprise her. We'll watch the kids." She offered and I saw Sully's mouth tighten because he hadn't been consulted. Well, it wasn't like they were living together, even though they were sure as hell living together. Whether at his place or hers. Either one could leave anytime, although they never did. They both seemed to like it that way.

"That's a good idea." I said. Why hadn't it occurred to _me_?

Except Kate didn't like surprises.

I could work around that, I supposed.

Mom ran her hand down my arm and grasped me by the hand.

"I'll help you make reservations online if you want."

She knew I wasn't well-versed enough to do that on my own. And that I probably couldn't access Kate's laptop in a stealthy manner without her knowing about it.

"I'll come over tomorrow. No – Sunday. We can get things going." I agreed. "I think I have a couple of personal days I can use."

I'd taken so many recently, I wasn't certain.

But I knew exactly where I wanted to take her. I'd been there once without her and I wanted to see what she'd loved about it.

Where she'd gone.

What she'd done.

Maybe even the people she'd spent her time with.

Now Sully was outright scowling at me. We'd barely spoken all evening; I wasn't sure what his issue was. I wondered what had happened between Kate and him.

"What." I demanded, because I wasn't about to just let it go unchallenged.

"Just take _care_ of her." He growled and Mom looked at him with such adoration it made me want to puke. He didn't mean 'do nice things', he didn't mean 'help around the house' – he was talking life – making her 'all better'.

He always could pinpoint where I was failing.

Dammit.

* * *

It had been unlike Kate to not say her goodbyes. She was usually a flawless hostess, but she'd somehow left me with the duties that night.

I shut the door and looked around at the silent apartment. She was no longer in the kitchen – it was totally clean. I passed by the bedroom.

Not in there.

That left the bathroom.

I leaned tensely in the door frame, watching her take her eye makeup off with cotton balls, which she threw viciously into the trash.

She wouldn't meet my eyes in the mirror. She barely glanced at me.

"Come on, Kate. We can't be angry at each other _all _the time."

"Speak for yourself."

She reached her right arm out to get her toothbrush and I saw, reflected in the mirror, a thumb-sized bruise on her inner forearm.

It just about killed me.

_I'd_ done that.

I can't even describe what I felt at that moment. I couldn't take my eyes off it.

She heard me suck in my breath, because her eyes finally caught mine in the mirror, dragging my gaze from the horror on her right arm.

And she knew.

She saw.

"No!" She said, sternly. Almost furiously. And we stared at each other for a moment.

In reflective glass.

Then she turned around and grasped my face with her hands. And her eyes were suddenly all soft and full of empathy and sadness.

"Don't you think that. Not even for a _minute_!"

"But look what I did –" I began.

"You're nothing like him." She said. And she kissed me. And whispered "_Nothing _like him."

"You don't know him." I said.

"I don't need to." Kate said. "I know _you_."

And she kissed me again.

I was forgiven.

And after that the night went well.

* * *

I got out of bed and threw my clothes on. Kate was already drowsing.

"Want your ice water?" I asked her. She always kept a glass of water on the night stand and would often wake during the night to take a sip. Or a loud gulp.

"Mmm." She murmured. "That would be nice. Thank you."

I drained a glass of water of my own, then filled another with ice water for her.

By the time I got back, she was sound asleep.

She hadn't even bothered to put clothes on.

Her red dress was a puddle of color at the foot of the bed. I tossed it toward the hamper but missed.

Forget it.

Setting the glass on the coaster on her night stand, I went back to her dresser and grabbed a pair of pajamas. Nice snug ones. I liked those.

_Really _liked those.

I dropped the folded pajamas onto her and that startled her awake.

"Put some clothes on." I said. "You never know when a kid is going to show up. Amanda's a girl, but Mikey – he'll , you know, _see _things."

Now she was wide awake.

"_Things_." She repeated. "There are probably 4,700 euphemisms for these and all you can come up with is '_things_'? Nevermind that up until about eight months ago he was up close and personal with them about a hundred times a day."

"Why are you arguing with me?"

"Fine." She jumped up and put the jammies on. And looked damned fine in them. "Happy?"

"You forgot underwear."

She, very dramatically, bit her lip and said "I was kind of hoping I wouldn't be needing any."

Oh.

Damn.

It was going to be a long night.

And boy was I fine with that.

I'd just have to rely on adrenaline tomorrow.

"Make sure you lock the door this time." Kate reminded me.

* * *

We had a really pleasant morning, and when I got called in early, she looked a little disappointed and kissed me goodbye like she meant it. And like she meant much more.

But when I got home that night, pretty close to on time, there was no Kate, no kids. I looked around for a note, but there wasn't one.

Just as I was about to try her cell phone, she burst in the door with a bang, and a big grin on her face.

She was wearing these tight black leggings and a red Nike sports shirt, some sort of sweatshirt tied around her waist, but what caught my attention the most was that she was covered from head to toe in dirt and dried mud. There were a couple of scrapes on her arms and one on her face.

"What did you _do_?" I asked, incomprehensibly.

"I fell down the mountain!" She proclaimed, laughing.

"_What_ mountain?"

"I went rock climbing." She headed into the kitchen and drew herself a glass of water from the tap and gulped it down.

"_Rock _climbing? _Where_? With _who_?"

"Brian." She set the glass down and leaned back against the counter.

"He took you rock climbing." She'd _never_ been rock climbing before. It sounded a little irresponsible to me.

"Yeah. We went to this place he knows a little upstate. Took his Harley."

I looked her over again. "_Harley_? You're not dressed for that-" I began.

She patted me on the arm. "Don't worry, honey. I made him go so fast that it wouldn't have mattered if I was wearing a concrete suit. I'd just be a little smear on the pavement."

"That's very reassuring." I _really_ didn't like the idea of her snugged right up close to him, arms clasped around his waist, face pressed into his back. "I might have to have a word or two with him about that."

"Oh, don't. It was all my idea."

"Your idea."

"Yeah." She sighed and ran her hands through her hair. "He called me to talk about coming back to work, and I knew he _liked _rock climbing and it was the weekend and one thing led to another…"

_One thing led to another_.

Words you really don't want to hear your woman utter about another man. In _any _way.

"…and your Mom was okay with taking the kids overnight." She finished.

"So did you? Talk, I mean?"

"No. We were having too much fun, and it wasn't like a car ride where you can carry on a conversation."

"It gets dark pretty early. Why are you home so late?"

"Oh, we stopped off to eat something. Don't worry, it was a walk-up casual take-out place." She added quickly when I again glanced at her dirt-covered body. "Everyone there was filthy, too. Had a couple of beers, and came home."

"He had beers before driving _you –"_

"No." She said. "_I_ did. He had iced tea. Don't _worry_." She said again, hand on my arm.

"But I really need a shower." She added.

I ran a hand over my face. "It's been a long day. I could use one, too."

"Kids aren't home." She prodded, actually poking me with her finger. Seductive smile.

I looked at her for a second in disbelief.

But only for a second. "You're on."

* * *

I stood in the doorway of the bedroom, eating some kind of spicy tortilla crab roll snack Kate had prepared for me earlier in the day, watching her. She was dressed in an elegant floor-length red robe I couldn't remember having seen before and her hair was finally starting to dry, sticking out in little tufts.

She looked like royalty.

Except for the scrape on her face. It mirrored the one I'd given her in the alley. Only it looked a little less severe.

She was looking at the bed.

"We can't sleep on this. It's soaking wet."

"Maybe next time we should be less impulsive and dry off first." I observed.

"Duh." She said, and started stripping the sheets off the bed.

The comforter had been kicked to the floor and I picked it up. It was completely dry.

"Aw – " she complained. "Even the pillows are wet."

"Well," I said, popping the last of the food in my mouth. "We can always camp out on this." I lay the comforter flat on the floor next to the bed.

" 'Camp out.' " She repeated, with a grin. "You gonna pitch a tent?"

"Aren't _you_ funny." That sort of innuendo was unusual for her. "Is that from a movie?"

She shrugged. "Could be. I dunno."

She swept out of the room and returned with a couple of towels, which she pressed into the mattress to soak up the dampness. "Hope this'll dry by morning." She muttered.

"So?" I asked. "Here or the couch?"

"Here's fine." She came over and wrapped her arms around my neck. "But you're going to have to find a way to keep my mind off the fact that I don't have a pillow to sleep on."

"Hamlet soliloqies?"

She shook her head.

And that's when I knew. She was definitely trying to kill me.

* * *

I left Kate soundly sleeping, curled up, red robe tucked under her head as a surrogate pillow.

I made the coffee, checked the sports scores on the TV then went back to find her still curled in the same position, so very still it made me want to check her breathing.

She never slept like this.

Usually she was stretched out all over the place, all arms and legs, all movement - tossing and turning. Some nights she kept _me_ up, and it made me wonder how she got any rest at all.

I let her sleep almost another hour, then went in to check on her again. She hadn't moved a bit.

"Hey." I nudged at her feet with one of mine.

She blinked her eyes open a little wearily.

"Hey, lover." She said, dreamily. "What time is it?"

"Close to eleven."

She rolled onto her back and stretched.

"I'm sore all over." She groaned. "I can't tell if it's from the rock climbing or you."

"It's from me. Clearly." I stated matter-of-factly.

She laughed.

"Did you make me breakfast?" she asked.

"I made coffee. Want to go out for breakfast? I know a few places that make it 24/7. Then we can go get the kids."

"Sounds like a plan." She sat up and ran her hands through her hair, modestly covering herself with the comforter. She looked over. "Is the bed dry yet?"

"I haven't checked it." I confessed.

She gave a gesture with her hand. "Whatever. I'll take care of it later."

"Get dressed," I said. "I'm starving."

* * *

Breakfast was great. The place served everything all day and night, so Kate ended up with her Reuben, while I had a more traditional breakfast. I kept glancing at her when she wasn't looking, wondering if I had actually gotten my real wife back.

Turns out I got a little more than that.

Rock climbing was only the beginning.

Normally genteel and polite, Kate got into a little tiff with the waitress about something very minor. She'd never, _ever_ done that before.

As a matter of fact, she was the biggest advocate for waitresses I'd ever met. She was always on me to leave a more-than-generous tip.

But it was the drive to Mom's house that really got me wondering if the medication was affecting her in a strange way. Or if she was bi-polar.

We got stuck behind some oblivion from out of state who couldn't manage to navigate the simple grid-like streets of New York and when we got stopped behind him at a light she shouted out the window, "Hey, _Holiday_!"

"Geez Kate!" I exclaimed "Chill!"

"Oh, please. You never met a confrontation you didn't like."She dismissed me. How could I counter that? She was right.

She stuck her head out the window again. "Hey, Rhode Island! That's not how we do things here in New York! Move it!"

"Put that window up." I ordered. "_Now_."

She actually did.

After I gave her a lecture about yelling at strangers in New York City she sat and pouted a little for the rest of the ride. But at least she wasn't openly hostile. She seemed to retain a little of her humor.

Until we got to Mom's house.

She was fine with Mom , but gave Sully the proverbial cold shoulder. Worse than she'd given me.

He finally confronted her in the kitchen while Mom was out of the room gathering up the kids' things and getting them ready to go.

He started out by conversationally asking her how her rock climbing experience had been.

She squared her shoulders and set her jaw and I knew something unpleasant was coming.

Kate said it was fine, but it was nothing compared to the experience she'd had upon arriving home.

"Kate, knock it off." I said, trying to nip it in the bud. This was not the time. I couldn't believe I was defending him.

She ignored me.

Then she started in about betrayal.

"Stop." I was about to grab her but Sully shook his head, warning me off, and I stepped back.

To his credit, he just leaned into her, arms crossed, and let her finish.

When she was done with her rant, he said quietly, "We need to talk."

"Like that'll happen." She turned and left the room. If she'd still had enough hair to flip dramatically over her shoulder, she would have.

He turned to me. "What the hell was _that_?"

"Not sure. Maybe the drugs…"

"_Drugs_?"

"Medication." I clarified. "Prescription. For depression."

"When did _this_ happen?"

"Last week. Ish." I wasn't sure.

"She doesn't need that crap. She's just _angry_. At everything and every_one_."

"No. She's been…._off_. "

"Gotta tell you – she still seems…_off_." He said pointedly. "I've never seen her like that."

"Me neither." I agreed.

"She hasn't been herself with the kids." I confessed. "She's been…." I searched for the word.

"Distant." He said. That was it.

"Almost as if she was worried about losing another one. If she's not as close, it won't hurt as much." I muttered.

"She sure seems to be close enough to _you_." He said sarcastically.

Yeah, _physically_.

_Now_.

But she still wasn't talking.

And it occurred to me again that she was using sex as a way to avoid talking. Using it to lull me into believing everything was 'normal'.

"She was just trying to get to you." I dismissed it. He deserved a break.

I couldn't torture him today.

Not after that.


	20. CH20 Taking It All Too Hard

Sunday was a wash. I never got over to Mom's, so I couldn't plan a damn thing.

A couple of guys had called in with fictional illnesses and I was offered an early shift, so I took it.

Kate had blown through her vacation time, sick days and was fast closing out personal time for the year. Not that we'd be homeless if she didn't get paid for a week or two, but it's best to stay ahead of these things. It was definitely a good thing it was October and we'd be starting a new year soon.

She'd sometimes get frustrated keeping up with simple household things. Contrast that with the impulsiveness and energy she'd displayed in the last couple of days and I was certain the pressure of going back to work full time would absolutely turn her into Baby Jane. I knew _she_ thought she was ready to go back, but I wasn't ready to let her.

I told her to talk to Brian, maybe we could work out some sort of part-time thing for now. She was really happy about the prospect. I expected we'd be able to come to some sort of agreement.

What I didn't expect was to come home at two and find Brian sitting at the kitchen table with a beer while Kate stood on the counter, barefoot, painting the wall space above the cabinets a sage green color.

She was still in that 'on' mode. All 'go'. I was worried about the crash I knew would eventually follow.

She was wearing these little black bike shorts and a close-fitting red tee shirt. In the past she'd wear clothing she didn't care about, but her methods had changed. She used to wipe up excess paint with her finger and swipe it on whatever dry spot she had on her clothing, but she'd gotten to the point where she would rather use a rag and pretty much paint without getting a drop on herself.

"Whatcha doing?" I asked them.

"Watching paint dry." Brian said, in a bored monotone.

"That had better be _all _you're watching." I muttered low enough that Kate couldn't hear.

He gave a quick laugh, but I couldn't tell if it was denial or confirmation, and he started flipping the beer cap on the table with his index finger, his face neutral.

Kate had turned and jumped down from the counter.

She gave me a kiss that made Brian have to clear his throat to remind us he was in the room.

Kate took a step back.

"Sorry." She threw at him. "I missed him."

"Kids napping?" I asked, letting go of her reluctantly. She nodded. "He wore them out completely."

He always did.

"So. Green." I stated, opinionless.

"It seemed like an appropriate color for a kitchen. Amanda helped pick it." She hopped back up on the counter to finish the job.

I looked around. The entire kitchen had already been painted, this was the last of it.

"Clearly she needs to go back to work." I said to Brian. I got a beer of my own.

He nodded. "She wants to come back full time but she was honest about the fact that you don't want that quite yet."

Well, of course she was. Kate was honest about everything. Except, lately, her feelings.

"Can she do something part time? Ease back into it?"

"Sure." He consented. "She could definitely do something part time. She could work from home. Wouldn't have to even come in to the office. Make her own hours."

"She'd make them full-time. You know that."

"I can organize assignments so that she can't even if she wants to."

"I'm agreeable to that." A nice compromise, I thought.

Kate was muttering something as she dabbed at the wall with the paintbrush.

"What's that, hon?" I asked idly.

She started quoting Cameron from 'Ferris Beuller's Day Off'.

" 'I am not going to sit on my ass as the events that affect me unfold to determine the course of _**my**_ life'!" She leaped to the floor, paintbrush held like a weapon. "You two are negotiating _my life_!"

Brian got up and stood toe to toe with her, just as Sully had, leaning into her. He was considerably taller. And apparently a wet paint brush didn't frighten him.

"Part time work from home. That's my only offer."

She stared at him for a minute, to determine if he was serious. She eventually decided he was.

"Fine." She gritted.

But he wasn't through.

"And you have to take back the stupid advice column. Apparently angsty teenage girls like your clarity, practicality, and honesty. I've gotten complaints about it being too preachy and full of lectures lately. Even from parents."

"No way." Kate said.

"This is _not_ a negotiation."

She gave him a look I knew was going to be directed at me for the rest of the afternoon just for being an accessory and hissed, "Fine."

She threw the paintbrush into the sink and stalked out of the room.

"Be online at eight tomorrow morning!" Brian called after her. A door slammed.

He shook my hand. "Nice doing business with you." He gestured after Kate. "Good luck with that."

"Yeah." I said sarcastically. "Thanks for stopping by."

"It'll be good. I've got some ideas for her." He assured me. "Don't worry. It won't all be fluff. I wouldn't do that to you."

"You'd better not. Her frustration level is high enough as it is. I can't even imagine if all she had to do was compare brands of cotton balls." I shook my head.

Turns out what he did was worse. At least as far as _I _was concerned.

* * *

The next morning I stumbled out of the bedroom at exactly eight a.m. Kate was perched in front of her laptop with an expectant smile on her face. She looked genuinely bright-eyed and happy for the first time in a while. She'd even dressed as though she were actually going _in_ to work.

I was envious that she looked to something else as the answer to her problems - her escape from them. _I _wanted to be the answer, not her job. But Kate was about control and I supposed she needed her job in order to feel in control of _something. _Her emotions weren't under control. Her mind didn't seem to be under control, with all the ups and downs and continuing nightmares. And the rest of her life seemed to be out of her hands with social commitments, kids' stuff , the volunteering at the shelter - she always seemed to be responding to demands rather than actively making decisions about things.

"Coffee?" I asked groggily, hoping she'd made some.

"No thanks!" she said brightly and waved me off dismissively, intent on the computer screen.

So I shuffled to the kitchen and made it myself, although I really should have just shuffled back to bed.

I could hear her fingertips clattering on the keys so fast it sounded like a hailstorm on a metal roof. All of a sudden I had a headache behind my eye.

I watched the coffee brew because I really didn't feel up to doing anything else.

By the time the entire pot had brewed, her typing had stopped.

"Stupid column _done_!" she proclaimed triumphantly. "Next!"

And the clattering started again, like I hadn't heard in weeks. To tell you the truth I hadn't missed it much. I'd never realized what a headache it gave me.

I assumed she was acquiring her next assignment, so I poured my coffee and dragged myself over to where she was.

She suddenly stopped and sucked in her breath.

"Oh, Brian, I love you." she breathed.

I was too tired to form the words to ask her why so I just looked over her shoulder at the IM.

Most of it was a blur, but one word jumped out at me.

Skydiving.

That woke me up fast.

"Wait - _what_ does he want you to do?"

And Kate started chattering so quickly that I missed most of the words. I caught something about some profound conversation she'd had with him comparing life to rock climbing, the challenges, the failures, and the meaning of life, and how he wanted the same sort of insight into a skydiving experience and she'd get to have a photographer to capture it all.

"Well, why can't you just write up the stuff about the rock climbing?"

"He wants that too. He's thinking about a series of article about experiences that are...well, I wouldn't exactly use the word 'extreme'..."

"_I_ would! I don't want you doing this!"

"Don't worry - it's expensed." She deflected my comment.

"It's _dangerous_. You could hurt yourself. Look what happened while you were rock climbing. You could have broken an arm or a leg falling down that mountain."

She sighed. "I could hurt myself tripping over the socks you left on the floor. Or over one of Mikey's block towers. Or choke on an orange. Or get hot grease in my eye when I'm cooking. You want to just put me in a room padded with bubble wrap?"

"What's next, then? Reef diving with sharks?"

"Ooh!" She slapped my arm. "That's a good idea!" and before I could stop her she'd passed the message on, her fingers a flurry of activity.

"Seriously! What other crazy, dangerous things does he have in mind?" Just to be sure killing him would be justified. This wasn't the 'easing back into things' I'd had in mind.

She turned to look at me. "Well, he suggested driving a race car, flying a plane, boot camp, hunting moose...things like that. And-" she hesitated.

"What?"

"Well, he thinks maybe I could go on a ride-along with you and Jerry one night-"

"No. No _way_."

"Oh come on! Night in the most horrible parts of the big city. Good guys versus bad guys. I don't know why we didn't think of this sooner. It's pretty damned obvious. What a story! I could do a thing on the whole dynamic between you and Jerry, the partner thing. Compare it to a marriage; similarities, differences-"

I interrupted. "Not a chance. You tell him no, Kate!"

Or I'd damn well do it myself. And you don't want that.

"To _everything_?" She suddenly looked so very hopeless. I didn't like that look, but there was no way.

"I don't want you putting yourself in jeopardy like that! You have a family!"

"So do you." She pointed out.

"I know what I'm doing. I'm not playing a game with my life so I can sell a couple of magazines."

"It's not a game. It's an opportunity." she objected and turned back to her computer, adding, "But it's nice to know you have such a high opinion of what I do for a living."

"Come on. You know that's not what I meant by that. I'm just saying it's not worth the risk."

She turned back. "What _is_?" she snapped. "_Marriage_?"

What did that mean? "Well, I really didn't look at it as a _risk_..."

"Look again." And she stomped out to the kitchen for some coffee.


	21. CH21 Road To Nowhere

**Okay, folks - not thrilled with this chapter, but I had to finally just release it into the wild and hope it survives or gets taken down by one of its own.**I decided to take the kids and go see Mom so I could look into planning that trip to Boston.

* * *

Besides, then Kate would be able to concentrate on work. Which she clearly wanted to do.

I was at the door holding Mikey and waiting for Amanda, who was struggling with a pink windbreaker, sleeve inside out, when Kate came over and grabbed my arm and kissed my cheek.

"I'm sorry about before." She said. I couldn't tell if she meant it, or if she just wanted things to be nice-nice. It was as though she was making certain I couldn't read her.

"You'll tell him 'no'?" I wanted confirmation. I was not about to let this drop.

"I'll tell him _something_." She said. "You obviously don't think this is a good idea."

"No. I don't. He can get someone else to do it."

She tried to wheedle me into it. "But it's something I really want to try anyway and he thinks I could do a good job with it and I _know _I can, and I really, really want to, so please, please, please?"

Our age gap was showing. Apparently it spanned thirty years.

"No." I wasn't about to argue over it. I needed to get out the door.

She slumped, defeated.

I hated doing this to her, but what was being requested of a mother of two who'd just suffered a miscarriage was absolutely ridiculous. I had no idea what he'd been thinking.

But he was young.

And apparently stupid.

Or maybe just thoughtless.

Turns out it was much more than that.

* * *

Thank God he took the kids and left.

I just wanted to crawl back into bed and pretend this wasn't my life.

Brian finally comes up with something interesting, something _exciting_, something that didn't include giving advice to girls half my age, and Maurice shoots it down.

So to speak.

What was the point of going back to work?

I knew I had to let Brian know Maurice wouldn't let me do this, but I held off. Maybe I could reason with him and get him to agree to at least a couple of things…or even just _one._

In the meantime, Brian gave me 'busywork' – he had me editing other people's articles. Which was damned boring. And stupid. And worthless. And I was astounded by the number of homophonic errors.

You're vs. your.

Too vs. to vs. two.

"Spell-check doesn't get it _all_ folks, you've got to do your own proofreading!" I muttered, but then again, here_ I _was doing it for them.

Then all of a sudden I started getting a bunch of IM's with really indecent suggestions. I didn't recognize any of the screen names. I just kept clicking them gone until it became really prohibitive and time consuming.

Since the issue was related to my work account I IM'd Brian, complaining about it and asking how to keep it from happening.

His response: _I was wondering when this would happen. Took a lot longer than I thought_.

Well, that was damned helpful.

**"What the hell does that mean?"**

_"Your screen name."_

_"**And?!" **_I had no patience for whatever game he was playing.

_" 'Roger' is a euphemism for sex."_

That infuriated me.

"**So I'm advertising 'Have sex with Kate'! Is there a reason you didn't let me in on this sooner??" **

_"Well, when you first started using the screen name I didn't feel I knew you well enough to broach the subject…"_

**"That's not something you need to know someone well enough for! You just say "Oh, hey, you'd better not do that"!! As a courtesy!"**

_"And I thought it was kind of funny. Considering."_

_"_**Considering _what_ exactly**?"

"_That you would never_."

**"If you knew me enough to know 'I would never', you knew me enough to say 'don't do this'. You're one hell of a BFF. And I thought I hated _chicks_. I'm really glad you got a laugh at my expense."**

_"It's **your **name, Kate Rogers."_

**"Shut up. I hate you."**

I signed off so he couldn't respond.

Idiot.

And then I wished Maurice hadn't gone, because he'd have found a way to make me laugh about it.

I was disappointed he wasn't here for me to share it with because he'd get a kick out of it and just randomly laugh at it for _days, _and the very thought made me smile. That, and the thought of the comments he'd make… his wordplay with my name. We could have had all these little inside jokes.

Sharing it after the fact just wouldn't be as humorous. And he'd be really mad that Brian had known and hadn't warned me.

And God knows, conflict was something I needed more of in my life right now.

So, damn.

* * *

Mom set me up on her computer, introducing me to such wonders as 'Orbitz' and 'Travelocity', so I was able to book flights very easily.

Finding a hotel was another matter. New England would just be finishing up foliage season, although the Boston baseball season had ended the previous week.

Unbelievably, I did eventually find something right on the waterfront.

The Seaport Hotel. Overlooking part of the harbor.

The website made it look fantastic. All they had available was a suite, and it was expensive, but what the hell. How often did we get away alone for a couple of days?

"What's this up in the corner?" I asked, when this little window appeared with Kate's name on it.

Mom came and looked over my shoulder.

"That means Kate's online and you can IM her. I do it all the time."

"How can I do that?"

"Use my screen name and send her a message."

I wasn't about to send things out over the internet under the name 'RosieRose51'.

"I want my own." I scowled. "I can talk to her then? How do I do that?"

Mom showed me how to set it up.

"What do you want your screen name to be?" She asked. "It doesn't have to be your actual name."

I didn't _want_ it to be.

I thought about it for a minute.

A Ramones song. Not only would it catch her attention, it was appropriate: _TooToughToDie_.

Mom laughed at it as though she was no longer worried about my job.

Still, her laugh seemed a little hollow.

I was pretty sure some days it was all she thought about. The greys she kept coloring weren't from worrying about my kids. And as much as I wanted to attribute them to Sully, I couldn't. They were sickeningly good for each other.

Having kids puts things into perspective like nothing else. I kinda got why she'd been the way she'd been with me sometimes. I didn't like that she worried so much, but there was nothing I could do about it, short of retiring, which would probably kill me quicker.

Mom typed all the information in a lot faster than I could have.

"How do I do this?" I asked Mom.

"You just click on her name, type a message and send it. She can accept or reject."

"She should have 'rejected' a long time ago." Sully muttered from his prostrate position on the couch, half-watching the TV, half watching the kids play a mutant game of Candyland.

I ignored him. Mom hadn't heard him, which was good, because I didn't really need to handle a riot this early in the morning. The last time he'd made a comment like that about me and she'd heard, she'd gone after him like a pit bull.

And all this time I thought I'd gotten it from Dad.

'In vino veritas', they say: 'In wine, there is truth," but it's pretty amazing what sobriety will reveal. Mom and I were more alike than I'd ever thought. Sometimes I wondered if she'd used alcohol to avoid being like me. I got the impression that if she'd been sober back then, Dad would have been taken care of the very first time. Self-defense.

"Ok. I'll give it a shot." I said skeptically.

She left me to my own devices.

I clicked on Kate's screen name, typed "_Hey_," and clicked 'send'. Short words are faster.

"**Who the hell are _you_, now? ****Do I know you?**" she replied instantly. Damn, she was fast. And in a mood.

"_Maybe_." I was trying to be funny.

"**Too coy**." She responded and the little box disappeared.

"What happened?!" I demanded. Mom came over and looked over my shoulder.

"She signed off. That's why her name isn't up there anymore."

"She didn't want to talk to you." Sully graveled.

"I'm pretty sure it was _you _she didn't want to talk to." I muttered, low, so he couldn't hear. I wasn't about to start a war. Yet.

"I'm not deaf." He said.

Damn.

"And I _will _talk to her."

* * *

'Google' is a really stupid word, but that's what I did in order to find things to do in Boston. Like the Aquarium. Faniuel Hall. The Freedom Trail.

After a while Kate's name popped up in the little box again, so I typed in, "_Hello_."

"**Do! I! know! you!"**

"_I know you_." I responded. I don't know why I didn't tell her it was me. I was having fun messing with her mind.

"**Is that supposed to be flattering? Do you think I'm stupid? I know why you're here." **And instead of waiting for a response, she signed off again.

A little confusing, but at the very least I knew she wasn't in the habit of flirting with strangers online.

Mom called lunch, so I gave it a break for a while. I didn't know how Kate could spend hours in front of a glowing screen doing research and typing like she did. Just being there for an hour made every muscle in my body cramp up.

* * *

I'd fallen asleep, slumped over my computer. The little 'dink-dink' noise that indicates a new instant message was what woke me up, heart pounding, breathless. I'd left the volume on way too loud.

I'd had another nightmare. This one was almost as bad as the one where Maurice was Evan.

A giant Maurice, standing on top of the Twin Towers, one foot planted on each one, like the Colossus of Rhodes, or King Kong. He held me in the palm of his hand, and tipped it, so very slowly, face expressionless, to just drop me into open space, looking at me as though I were a bug he was experimenting with, and I was sliding slowly with nothing to grab onto, knowing that the eventual free-fall was inevitable.

It had been horrible. At least I'd awakened before the falling had begun.

And all it told me was that Maurice had more control over my life than I did at this point.

I looked at the IM. It was that same guy again. Well, this was something I actually had control over.

* * *

After lunch I went back, and she was on line, so I thought I'd give it one more shot. With the adventurous mood she'd been in the last couple of days I was surprised she wasn't more curious. Instead of shutting me down so fast, I thought she'd engage me in conversation and try to get information out of me.

"_Hey, beautiful._"

"**You again**." It had taken her a couple of minutes to respond. She must have been getting water or lunch or something.

"_Yup_."

"**Brian, if this is you, knock it off. I'm working**."

"_Not Brian_."

There was a very long pause. She was thinking. Running through all the co-workers and acquaintences it _could_ be.

She came up with nothing.

**"Well, you've got my attention. Who are you? And why that screen name?"**

**"**_Because I **am**."_

_"_**Comments like that make you ****sound like someone _I'M MARRIED TO_." **Bold, italics and all capital letters. She was trying to make a point. I liked that she made that point.

_"Imagine that."_

Then she typed something incomprehensible.

"What does A slash S slash L mean?" I queried anyone within earshot.

"Age, Sex, Location." Sully growled.

Oh.

"_Old enough/Yes, please/closer than you think_." That was probably completely the wrong way to respond, but I was in a goofy mood.

"**Ha. A wise guy**," she replied. "**You could be a ten year old for all I know**."

"_That's my emotional age._"

"**Well, at least you're honest about it. That means you can be worked with**." Geez, she was fast. It must be killing her to have to wait for my hunt-and-peck replies.

"_I'm legal_. _Let's get a drink later." _Mom would watch the kids for a while if I asked her to.

"**No.**"

Wow. Just 'no.'

No "I'm sorry, but...", no easy let-down. No excuses. No reasoning. Just '_no_'.

It made me wonder what _this_ Kate, _my_ Kate would have handled herself in that nightclub setting where I'd met her. She was so different now.

She wouldn't have needed me.

She'd have permanently disabled that guy in the hallway and walked out the door without her 'friends'. Yellow dress, well-muscled legs accentuated by her high heels... It made me wish I'd paid a little more attention that night, when I'd had her right there in front of me. But, in retrospect, if I'd given her _any_ kind of line, knowing her it would have ended up being one of my most disastrous and humiliating attempts on record. With Faith as a witness.

And that brief and awkward moment would have changed everything that followed.

It would have changed the way I'd treated her, the way she responded to me, the way she'd trusted me.

She wouldn't have had any respect for me.

She would have pegged me as a loser, completely ignored me, and we'd have gone our separate ways within twenty-four hours and never looked back.

And we'd both have gone on, two lonely broken people, too entrenched in habits of self-preservation to take a risk or make a commitment.

"_Why not?" _But I was fortunate enough to live in the present, not the past_._

"**I'm busy and I make it a rule not to drink with men I'm not married to**." That was reassuring. She and Brian weren't knocking 'em back after hours at work.

"_Come on. There's nothing wrong with offering to buy a beautiful woman a drink._"

"**You're absolutely right. ****Let me know how it goes**.**" **Classic Kate.

"_Just a margarita_."

"**Too flirty**."

"_A glass of wine_."

"**Too intimate**."

"_Coffee?_"

"**Coffee's an acceptable beverage. But it's still no**."

"_Do you like pina coladas_?" A subtle clue that it was me. My apologies to Rupert Holmes.

"**Very funny. I'm not looking to escape**." Apparently _too_ subtle.

"Y_ou like 'getting caught in the rain'. Warm rain. On rooftops_." If that didn't give it away I didn't know what would.

"**How do you know that**?" She was really being obtuse today.

"_I know a lot of things_." I was about to start a list, but she was too damn fast for me.

"**Who **_**are **_**you? Dammit, Brian, if this is you, so help me...I have a husband who can help me cover up a really vicious and bloody murder." **That made me grin**.**

"_I'm not telling unless you agree to meet me for a drink_."

"**I will **_**agree **_**to meet you for a drink."**

What?

There was a long pause and I suddenly felt cold and a little sick.

**"But I will not actually show up. Now you must tell me who you are**."

Her play with language made me sigh with immense relief. Not that I'd actually believed it for even a second, but still...

"_Not unless you show up_." I prodded.

"**I can live with the mystery**."

And she signed off again. That's my girl.

But I'd gotten her to talk to me. This could be a fun game. Especially since she had no expectation that I would be interested in exploring '90's technology.

She liked puzzles. She liked mysteries. I started thinking of little clues I could leave her, like breadcrumbs, so she could figure it out.

* * *

**Later That Same Day:**

Since Kate was playing what she called 'Industrial Complex' with the kids, Lego's and Matchbox cars, I offered to go pick up my dry cleaning, which was fine with her.

But I had something else in mind.

The dry cleaner was pretty close to the building where she worked, so I figured I'd drop in on Brian and find out exactly what he was thinking when he suggested all these insane ideas. And tell him to knock it off. Or else.

We ended up having a confrontation of a very different kind.

I went up to the office area and some chick told me he was 'upstairs', meaning something more important than me, but I could wait in his office.

So I did, wandering around, looking at the pictures on the wall – a painting or two, pictures of him with a couple of celebrities like Bobby Flay and more than a few politicians, and a bunch of awards.

Kate had a few of those, too, but she usually just threw them in a drawer.

After about fifteen minutes I was too restless to wait around anymore, so I went to leave him a note, tearing the top page off the colored memo pad at the corner of his desk.

Not a pen in sight. On a writer's desk.

And it didn't have that shallow middle drawer you where you can stick rulers and pens and things.

I'm right-handed, so there's really no explanation for why I went and opened the left drawer; maybe I had the paper in my right hand.

If I hadn't, I probably would never have known.

Resting on top of the other contents of the drawer was a one-inch stack of photos.

The top one was a distant shot of Kate at her desk, lost in thought, gazing out the window. Black and white. I wanted to keep it.

The second was Kate, clearly unaware she was being observed, smiling, engaged in what looked to be a very animated conversation with someone whose shoulder was in the foreground.

The third: Kate.

And the one after that, and the one after that, and the one after that…

"Oh, God." I rubbed my eyes and when I looked up Brian was in the doorway, hesitant, his eyes on the open drawer and pictures in my hand.

"What is this, _St. Elmo's Fire_?" I demanded, even though he was probably too young to get the reference.

He was a good three or four inches taller, but I could take him if I needed to.

Dammit. And I'd really liked him, too.

It was more than a second or two before he answered.

"They're, uh – just extras. From office parties and things like that." He looked embarrassed and defensive at the same time.

I just stared him down until I could see defeat.

"How long?" I asked, dropping the pictures back in the drawer, slamming it shut with a sharp snap. It was a good thing there was a big, solid oak desk between us.

The only reason he was still alive was because I couldn't remember ever seeing him so much as flick lint off of Kate's shoulder.

"About a year," he lied.

Right.

But he had the decency to look me in the face instead of letting his eyes roam everywhere else like a guilty perp. As though he thought we shared something – like we had some sort of bond because he was nuts about my wife, too.

"Get over it." I said, trying to squash the impulse to charge him, take him down, rip his limbs off and throw his pieces down the trash chute.

Then burn him and stomp on what was left. Make him into kind of a smoldering Flat Stanley.

I didn't only because of how Kate would react.

"I'm trying." He said.

That couldn't be true. While we hadn't seen much of him in the previous month or so, he'd sure been around quite a bit lately.

When I wasn't.

I'd never _really_ felt threatened by him, and I still didn't. But there was one thing I had to be certain of.

"Does she know?" I asked.

This was crucial. If she'd known she would have told me, regardless of the consequences. Unless she had something to hide.

"No! God, no. No way."

Relief.

I exhaled.

"Don't tell her," he continued, desperately."It'll make our work relationship awkward."

"You think I _care_? I'll drag her out of here tomorrow and tell her _exactly_ why!"

"Don't. I need her." Then he added very quickly, "I don't mean I _need_ her. I need her _here_. Working. She's the best I've got."

"You care so much about her, why'd you ask her to do all these risky things?"

"It's what she wants."

"It's what she _wants_." I repeated skeptically.

He finally stepped into the room instead of slouching at the door.

"Her job - it's all I have. The one way I can make her happy." He said quietly. "You've got everything else." That was so pathetic it almost made me feel bad for the guy for a minute.

But I didn't.

"We're not _partners_ in Kate's _happiness_." Until I realized we kind of were. In a weird way.

And suddenly I felt trapped.

She loved this job.

I couldn't keep his secret and still demand that she quit. She'd hate me forever for taking this away from her. I couldn't make her quit just because some guy might say the wrong thing to her or touch her the wrong way, which I knew she could handle very effectively.

And if I told her the truth, she'd probably feel so awkward about the whole thing that she'd quit, and she'd _still_ be miserable. And blame me for it.

Or, even worse, she'd confront him, and, like Cher in that 80's movie, smack him and yell at him to 'snap out of it', and it would wound him and their relationship wouldn't be the same and her job wouldn't be the same and she'd slowly lose enthusiasm for it and everything would go to hell. At work _and _at home.

Or she'd realize she had options. Younger, taller, white-collar options with a lot more things in common with her...someone who would come home every night, someone who didn't have to be treated weekly for work-related injuries...

I couldn't think that way.

Tell her/not tell her. Either way, I didn't like what I was coming up with.

I was in a spot and dammit, I had to let it go. At least for the time being. Until I could think.

And I think he knew it, too.

I pointed at him. "You stay as far away from her as possible." How the hell was I going to keep Kate away from _him_?

He raised his hands. "Nothing. I promise. I swear. Nothing."

I came around the desk and roughly tucked the blank paper in his shirt pocket. "You wouldn't have the guts."

I shook my head and sighed.

"I was just looking for a pen."


	22. CH22 All You Wanted

The fact that Brian was concerned with Kate's happiness meant this was more than just physical, more than infatuation, and that made him dangerous as far as I was concerned.

He hadn't crossed the line yet, as far as I knew, but who knew what he'd do in the future. And he'd already driven a wedge between us with the issue of those crazy assignments. I wondered if it was an intentional move.

I was not about to play a game of relationship chess with the guy.

Knowing what I now knew made me doubt everything that I _thought_ I'd known – everything that had happened in the past: every time we'd ever gotten together, every moment he'd had with Kate.

For example, six months earlier Kate had been required to attend sort of trade-related dinner thing at an uptown hotel. I hadn't thought I'd be able to escort her, but things had changed at the last minute and I'd been able to go after all.

There'd been dancing and Kate had wanted to and I hadn't so she'd borrowed Brian, and I'd been left to talk to his date: a dumb redhead who spent every spare second checking herself in a compact mirror. She knew so little about him it made me wonder if he'd just snagged her in the lobby and invited her in just for the sake of having company.

Now I was thinking maybe I'd been right.

That he'd been hoping for an evening alone with Kate and when it didn't turn out that way he covered himself. With his track record it would have been inconceivable for him to show up without a date.

But even worse, I realized now, he'd had his hands on her. Been right up close to her.

It had never occurred to me that there had been anything more than friendship there. He'd hidden it well.

_Very_ well.

I started thinking of all kinds of situations where things probably weren't as they seemed.

Like his relationship with my kids. They adored him.

Was he setting himself up to steal my entire _family_?

And I had to shut the thoughts down, stuff them away, because blind rage wouldn't be good for _any_body.

At least I knew Kate was blameless.

Unless he'd been lying to me.

And that's when I started second-guessing my wife.

How could she _not _know? She spent hours on end with the guy, how could she miss something so vital? _My_ excuse was that I didn't really see him that often and I took him at face value when I did. Was it really possible that she had no idea? Had he been able to hide it from her? A former investigative reporter?

But when you don't practice deceit on a regular basis sometimes you don't identify it when you see it. And Kate was as honest as they come.

Right?

It was only when I walked in the door and Kate looked up from her computer and frowned at me a little that I realized I'd never stopped at the dry cleaner.

* * *

I was on the couch idly flipping through the newspaper and monitoring a completely illogical game of Monopoly just to make sure Mikey didn't eat one of the little green houses. Kate was on the other side of the room working, and I could hear her fingers flying over the keyboard.

"What are you doing?" I asked her.

"I'm messaging Brian – I want to make sure I hit all the fine points. Make sure he has what he wants."

He'd damn well better not.

"While you're there…" I said, "Tell him you're not going to be around Thursday and Friday." It was a little bit of a shot across the bow, I have to admit. Even though I didn't really think I needed to do it, it felt good.

She stopped and turned. "_Why_?" She was kind of far away and I couldn't tell if her expression was one of interest or annoyance. Or both.

I tossed the paper on the coffee table and strolled over to where she was, mainly so I could see what this guy was writing to her. And wondering at the irony of how suddenly 'Uncle B' became just _'this guy'_. "Because we're going away for a couple of days."

She gave me a look that seemed to be a mixture of awe and confusion and I started to wonder if I was going to need glasses to read her expressions. "_Away_?"

"Away." I confirmed. "Alone."

She typed furiously for a couple of seconds, then leaned back in her chair, surprised.

"He says fine, no problem." She reported.

As though he had an option. I thought while the balance of power was still in my favor I ought to make sure he knew that no way was Kate going to be doing all those risky things, but I had no desire to see him again right away.

Or ever. Unless he happened to be right in the way of a baseball bat I happened to be swinging.

She stood and wrapped her arms around my neck. "Where are we going?"

"Boston." I said. She tried to step back, her face pained, but I wouldn't let her.

"_Boston_?" She asked. "Why _Boston_? _Virginia_ is for lovers. Or so I hear."

I almost made a crack about her making _that_ trip with her lover, then, but it just didn't seem funny any more. "Well, because you love the Red Sox and you love Boston, and I thought you could show me around. What's so great about it."

She looked everywhere but at me.

"Umm….Boston," she said, hesitantly, "was probably the worst time of my life."

"What do you mean?"

"Going there was _horrible_! Why I was there. How I got there. Where I lived. The fact that I spent the first year trying to get over _you. _And just when I was about to walk away from it all I got that _newspaper_. And I couldn't get in touch with Faith for almost a week to find out …" she trailed off, running her hands through her hair, agitated. And she ironically put her hand on the right side of my face, where '_it_' had been, but she didn't know, because she'd never seen it. I don't know why I was thinking about the whole thing so much lately. Maybe I was feeling a little vulnerable. Susanne. Mortality. Fragility of life. All that.

I felt as though I'd shot an arrow at the 'Romance' target and completely missed.

I pulled her back in. Maybe I could make this work.

"I got a suite. The whole corner of the room is windows overlooking the harbor. We're going to museums, restaurants, we'll do swan boats, duck boats, whatever you want. The North End. Rowe's Wharf. The Aquarium. _Cheers_…"

She looked a little more interested.

"Just you and me and everything good." I said. "New memories."

"You've really done your research." She observed. "Just you and me and everything good." She repeated thoughtfully.

Then she furrowed her brow. "How did you set this all up?"

"Ma introduced me to the internet."

And she looked at me skeptically for a minute, then her expression cleared. "Oh." She said. And smiled.

" 'Ah, it's you'," she quoted. "I _do _like pina coladas. _And _margaritas. And we're going to have plenty of both." She looked like she was about to kiss me then she smacked me in the forehead with her palm. "Why didn't you just say it was you?"

I shrugged. "I was having fun with you."

"No, _you_ were having fun. I wasn't. I don't like it when people I don't know try to talk to me. At least it was you. I thought I had some kind of stalker."

She just might. Geez, now I had to worry about that.

* * *

We were sitting in silence at the curb, with only the sound of the traffic outside and the crinkle of Jerry's paper bag every time he went for a handful of fries. He kept glancing over at me, not even trying to hide his curiosity. But that was him. He was such an open book he made Kate look like...well, _less_ of an open book.

I had unwrapped my burger, but was staring blankly out the windshield going back and forth on what to do about the whole thing. It didn't feel right keeping information from Kate. Information she should probably know. But telling her would cause a whole _other_ set of issues.

In a perfect world:I tell her, she voluntarily finds another job, and the whole thing is over. No, wait. He drives off a cliff. _Then_ it's over.

But the world isn't perfect.

Finally, I absently took a bite. I wasn't really that hungry, but I never knew when I'd get to complete an entire meal, so I had to take advantage whenever possible. The burger was cold and tasteless.

"You seem distracted lately." Jerry said through his fries. "Something going on?"

That took care of my appetite. I threw the rest of the thing out the window for the birds. Almost immediately a couple of seagulls started squabbling over it, darting in and dodging cars.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'." He said. "I would have eaten that, by the way."

"You eat more than anybody I've ever known," I grumbled, starting the car and pulling away from the curb. Some dumbass cabbie had the stones to honk at me for getting in his way and I thought about letting him get ahead so I could pull him over for no reason and take up a good half hour of his time. Just to brighten his day.

Jerry read my mind. "Let it go." He said.

And after a brief pause: "So, what's going on? Did I do something?"

"No." I replied shortly.

"Is it work-related at _all_? Do I have something to worry about?"

"No!" I snapped.

"Home life, then."

"Shut up."

"Bingo."

"It's none of your business."

"Sure as hell is! You've run three red lights in the past two days because you're not paying attention. I'd rather not have my right side caved in by a Buick!"

I grunted. I _hadn't_ noticed.

"How come you never let me drive?"

"You'd be too courteous. We'd never get anywhere." I was trying to be insulting, but it was impossible to insult the guy. He was a walking 'Have a Nice Day' smiley face.

"There goes another one."

"Another _what_?!"

"Red light."

Oops.

I changed the subject.

"You said 'hell' out loud," I admonished. "You don't get your animal crackers and milk after the shift."


	23. Ch23 Letting The Days Go By

_Sorry for any typos, and there was some more stuff I wanted to weed out, but Too Tired. I'll probably regret this in the light of morning, but here you go....Chapter 23._

* * *

"So, what am I going to do for the next few days with you gone?" Jerry asked on Wednesday afternoon about an hour into our shift.

I was in a mood, and he was so bright and positive he was just making it worse.

I didn't bother answering.

Kate had spent the morning at the shelter spending time with Julia, who she'd said was healing up nicely. But she had apparently brought home a surplus of estrogen because her emotions were all over the place.

She was heartbroken about Julia's situation, and I couldn't tell if it was empathy, being reminded of something she had no desire to re-live, or a combination of both.

Most likely both. But she didn't want to talk about it.

She was weepy, she was angry, she was a lot of things and I wasn't sure what she wanted _me _to be.

Apparently _nothing_. Everything I said or did seemed to be precisely wrong and by the time I left we were so annoyed with each other that we just yelled goodbyes from different rooms.

"Why do you think they put _us_ together?" Jerry mused. He was just saying things to avoid silence.

"Torture."

"No, _really_."

"Really." I said. "You think they _like_ me, Sunshine?"

There was a brief moment of silence.

"Well, what have they got against _me_?"

I looked over at him. "Did you just make a _joke_? To my detriment?"

He had a slight smile, "I believe I did."

"Wow." It made _me _smile a little. "It only took you three months...Took Faith three _seconds_."

"I was taught to show respect for my elders." He countered.

Okay, he had me. I couldn't fight a smile after that.

"As long as you know your place, Junior. Watch it or I'll replace you with a canine."

"He wouldn't respect you like I do."

He actually got a laugh out of me.

The rest of the night went pretty well. His unexpected flashes of humor kept my mind off of everything with Kate.

Unbelievably, at one point in the evening, he'd even been able to diffuse a domestic situation.

A neighbor had complained about the screaming argument next door, and there didn't seem to be any physical abuse, but I'd really just wanted to haul the guy in and come up with reasons for it later.

Jerry had given me a gesture that said 'wait' and had then talked him down and literally told him to 'kiss and make up' with his girlfriend. The guy did so with such enthusiasm that all we could do was discreetly exit.

Alcohol may have been a factor.

"You are something else. They should use you for the Israeli-Palestinian conflict." I said when we were back outside.

He shrugged. "If he'd hit her, or looked like he wanted to, it would have been all over."

"And you would have _smiled_ him into submission right then and there, Pollyanna. What's it like living at the end of the rainbow?" I asked him across the top of the car before getting in.

"It's all unicorns and glitter," he laughed and got in. I did the same and fastened my seat belt, which had become a habit at Kate's insistence, because she'd "seen me drive a 'regular' car".

"Seriously, do you go home and watch _It's A Wonderful Life _every night, or what? We need to find you a woman." I started the car. He turned and looked at me. Very seriously.

"Bosco, I'm gay. I assumed you knew."

"_What_?!"

No. No _way_.

He stared at me at least five seconds before breaking down."God, you're so easy." He shook his head and grinned.

"So you're not." Just checking.

"Your _wife _will tell you I'm not."

"Don't even. You're too..._Mister Rogers _to make _any_ kind of wife joke. You can't even look her in the eye half the time, Myron." I put the car into gear and pulled out into surprisingly sparse traffic. "So, what do we do for fun, now?

"Home, James." Jerry said.

"What?"

"Home. Go there."

"_Home_? _My _home?"

He nodded. "There's another domestic situation that needs a resolution. You're no enigma, let me tell you."

"I don't want you involved in my personal life!"

"I'm not going to get involved. I'm going to say hi to Kate and hope there are leftovers of whatever ambrosia she made for dinner. And while I'm rummaging in the fridge you're going to apologize for whatever you did." He gave me a smile. "And kiss and make up. But, please, _God,_ please, not like _that_ guy did."

"What makes you so sure it was all _me_?"

He just looked at me.

"It was _both_ of us, okay Dr. Phil?"

"Just make it right." He shrugged.

"Sure. Like it's that easy. When was the last time you were in a relationship?"

He ignored my question.

"It _will_ be that easy. Look, whatever this is, it's like a little flare compared to the other stuff. Just deal with it and get beyond it."

I looked at him, consternated, annoyed. When had I become 'readable'? And when had he become so perceptive?

"Okay, Sigmund."

* * *

The kids were asleep and Kate was curled up in the corner of the couch reading a magazine when Jerry and I walked in the door.

Surprised, she threw the magazine down and jumped up. "Hey, sweetie!" she exclaimed and rushed over to give Jerry a hug on his neck. She stepped back, hands on his shoulders. "Are you hungry? Stupid question. There's a _ton_ of stuff in the fridge." He kissed her forehead, because otherwise he'd have to bend, and headed for the kitchen.

"We just ate _two hours_ _ago_." I pointed out to his receding back, and Kate and I were left with an awkward silence.

We looked at each other for a moment; she was tight-lipped and tense.

"Hey." I said quietly and gave her a lingering kiss on the cheek.

"I'm sorry." She whispered, and all the tension went out of her body, then she drew back "I just-"

"I know."

She nodded, remained silent. Tiny smile, sad eyes."Okay."

"Oh, my God!" Jerry exclaimed. He stuck his head back out the kitchen entryway. "She made a roast, Yorkshire pudding, sweet potatoes and that green bean casserole with the crunchy onions! It's like Christmas!"

"Thanks for the inventory report." I told him and he disappeared and started making a lot of noise preparing himself another meal. I looked at Kate. "You were expecting an army? I guess we'll be here for a while."

"Fine by me. I was feeling a little lonely, anyway."

She grabbed my hand and pulled me into the kitchen where Jerry was putting a loaded plate of food into the microwave, punching the buttons.

Kate turned to me. "Do you want anything?"

"Hm, " I sighed, and kissed her behind and just south of her right ear. That was the spot. It worked every time.

"I'll wait up." She said quietly, nudging me, with a much better smile. "Sure you can't just send him back out on his own?"

"If only."

Jerry's food went 'ding' and we all sat at the table, Kate plopping herself on my lap, arms around my neck. We watched him eat.

"If _you_ ate like that-" Kate began.

"I'd look like Sully."

She pinched me. "That's not nice."

"I concur." Jerry added, even though he didn't know what he was talking about. He'd never met Sully.

"We don't need _your_ input, Donny Osmond."

"So, how you doin', Jerry?" Kate asked.

"Great. _Considering_." He nodded at me. " And you?"he asked her.

"About the same. You might be able tolerate him better if you spent more time with him. Hmmm. Any chance you'd like to accompany him to Boston for the next two days?"

"Him aside, why would I want to go to _Boston_?"

"Oh, you're about to start a war." I said, low.

"Why _wouldn't_ you?"

"It's _Boston_."

Kate crossed her arms and leaned on the table with a glare. "_And_?"

"Nothin'." He stabbed at his food.

"Yeah, you're some tough cop." I muttered to him. "Afraid of my wife."

"Aren't _you_?", Jerry asked pointedly. Kate turned her gaze on me and I gave her a smile that said I wasn't.

"Let's move it, Elmo." I said to Jerry. "Let's get this night over with."

He dumped his plate in the sink, rinsing it, of course. He gave Kate a sincere thank you, a pat on the shoulder and, this time, put in the effort for a kiss on the cheek. Straight from the Brady Bunch, this guy.

He'd probably send her a thank you note.

But she _did_ wait up for me.

* * *

The flight to Boston actually took less time than our drive to La Guardia, and I was pretty sure it all cost less than what I'd have to pay for parking on our return.

But both the drive and the flight combined added up to less time than we spent at the airport, dealing with delay after delay. We didn't get to Boston until after three o'clock.

We had a perilous cab ride to the hotel, with a driver so reckless he made Kate and I jolt and bash our shoulders together every time he took a corner. After the first couple of times, Kate just started laughing every time it happened, like it was a roller coaster ride, even while bracing herself for the next corner.

Our room was on the fifteenth floor. Kate slid the key card in and out and practically slammed the door open.

The room was beautiful and the view was unbelievable. Kate dropped her garment bag and purse on the floor and went straight over to the windows. I set down the suitcases and followed her. It was a bright, clear, crisp October day. I came up behind her and put my arms around her and she leaned back into me.

"This is fantastic." She breathed. It was, and I was glad she liked it.

This morning she'd been upset and annoyed that she'd only been back to work for three days and was taking a vacation already. She'd tried to smuggle her laptop in the luggage, but I'd found it and taken it out. I'd been concerned that her mood was going to sink the weekend. Straight to the bottom.

"So. What do you want to do first?" I murmured into her hair.

"Well," she said, "Logic dictates that the first thing we do is unpack."

"OK."

"That being said, I don't believe I'm in the mood for logic."

"Well, what are you in the mood for?"

* * *

The bed had been decorated with about three thousand pillows but most of them were on the floor now. I lay on my back staring at the white ceiling listening to the running water of Kate's shower. She was actually taking her time, which was fine because we pretty much had all the time in the world.

I got up and threw the dislodged sheet, blanket and comforter back on the bed and went to check out this room's window.

Amazingly, I could see several runways for Logan Airport across the harbor. I hadn't realized we were so close. I put my forehead against the glass and looked fifteen stories down, and the window had a wavy quality that made me feel a little dizzy, so I stepped back, ran my hands through my hair and dropped back on the bed, waiting for Kate to be done.

I apparently dozed, because the snick of the bathroom door opening startled me. I sat up, a little groggy, as Kate emerged in this incredible burgundy dress, shoes dangling from her left hand. She tossed them on the chair in the corner.

I stood up and took a couple of steps toward her. "Wow."

"You like it? I went shopping when you weren't looking."

"I'm really glad you did." She looked perfect. Perfect dress, perfect hair, perfect make-up.

I ran my hand down her upper arm. "Looks like you got a little bit of a bruise from that cab ride."

She checked it, shrugged and put her arms around my neck, Kate-style: elbows locked, always, whether she was a foot and a half away or pressed right up against me like she was now. Occasionally, she'd bend one of her long arms to mess with my hair. She looked my face over for a few seconds before I asked her if she wanted me to help her out of it.

She smiled. "It's a side zipper," she added, but I'd already found it.

* * *

I glanced over at the clock on the bedside table. 8:02. Hell.

Our reservations were for eight at a restaurant on the other side of the city. It wasn't going to happen.

"We missed dinner."I switched on the light.

"_I_ don't miss it at all." Kate stretched lazily.

"I made a reservation and we didn't show up!"

She propped herself up on her elbow. "It happens all the time. Because of us, some _other_ hapless diners who _didn't_ make reservations are going to walk in and get lucky, no pun intended, get a nice table, and maybe it'll be a night to remember. Maybe the night they realize they're in love. Maybe the night of their lives."

"Well, what are _we_ going to do, order a pizza? Get crappy room service?"

"Honey," she said, "Places like this don't have 'crappy' room service. It's generally pretty good. But we're lucky it's a Thursday, rather than a Friday or Saturday. We can go walk the North End until we find a place that can accommodate us. There are _so_ many restaurants, we'll have no problem finding a place to eat. And then Caffe Vittoria for espresso and cannoli."

"Espresso? I'm not drinking out of a tiny cup."

"What do you call a shot glass?"

"That's different."

I looked at the clock again and thought of all the places I'd wanted to take her. "We wasted our first five hours in Boston."

"Wasted? I can't wait to see what you consider a valid use of our time. Maybe we _should_ order room service..."

"Come on." I said impatiently.

"If you really feel we must get out, why don't you get a shower - I can touch up my makeup and hair when you're done and we'll hit the town. We don't have an assigned bedtime. And we can sleep as late as we want tomorrow. We could stay out all night if we want to."

"Okay." I said. "We'll be crazy impulsive fools and just see what happens."

She grinned. "Shower up, cupcake."

* * *

I got dressed and checked myself in the mirror over the desk.

Not too much damage. Touch up the make-up a little, fluff the hair, I'd be fine. Five minutes, tops.

As soon as I heard the shower start running I dug in my luggage and pulled out my laptop. If Maurice thought I was leaving this behind after only three days of 'work', he was nuts.

I started the computer, and as I was waiting for it, I rubbed my hands over my face.

This was getting tiring, pretending everything was back to normal. Acting happy all the time. Letting on I was satisfied with the way things were going...my job, my life...Having two other people pretty much determine how things were going to go for me. I think that was what I resented the most. That, and having to rely on a pill to get me through the day.

Well, two pills.

A couple of weeks earlier I'd decided I couldn't live through that kind of heartbreak again, so I'd asked my doctor for birth control. It seemed to balance my moods a little, and it made sure I could distract Maurice without consequences. With a little added bonus: my body wouldn't destroy any more unborn Boscorellis.

If I'd really thought he'd be interested in another kid, I'd have said something to him about it, but I was pretty certain he was content with the way things were, in spite of Susanne.

It was hard to paste a smile on my face when I just wanted to scream at the top of my lungs how unfair the world was, and that there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. And it wasn't just for me or Maurice and Susanne. Look at Julia. Her situation was a result of wrong place/wrong time. Or so I thought. Granted, she stayed in her 'profession', and that was her own fault, but nobody deserved what she got.

I knew that better than anybody.

But my situation had been the result of my own stupidity as well.

Not having an 'involved' father skewed my judgement a little, but I still should have bailed on Evan when I started to realize what he was doing. Ah, but being young, ignorant, not realizing that there's so much more out there... but no, that really wasn't it, was it?

It had been more a sense of duty...obligation... Because I'd been with him so long, I felt that couldn't let the relationship _fail_. My own stubborn nature did it to me. I couldn't blame myself for _his_ actions, but I certainly could blame myself for being there when those actions happened. I should have been long gone before it went that far.

I saw _now_ the manipulation from Evan and his father to keep me there, and it was extensive. It helped me identify a somewhat seamy quality in Brian that told me his motivation was not neccesarily as gracious as it seemed. But at least he was giving me what I wanted. Something new. Something exciting. Something more than mere words on paper.

And Maurice wanted me to turn the opportunity down.

I wasn't sure I was about to do that.


	24. Ch24 Don't Look Back

Kate was at the table with her laptop. She snapped it shut guiltily.

I should have known.

I just waited. No demands, no anger, just quiet expectation. Yelling wouldn't do anybody any good.

She was silent for a moment, and when she realized I wasn't going to speak, she said, "I _had_ to bring it. You know I have to check my e-mail constantly when I'm working. Especially now, since I was gone for so long." She managed to say that without a touch of the resentment I knew she felt.

"That's why they have a Business Center downstairs with computers. I looked into it before I booked the room to make sure you would be able to keep in contact."

"Oh." Now she looked guilty and remorseful at the same time.

"Go get yourself ready to go. If we wait any longer, we'll be looking for a place to eat _breakfast._"

* * *

Our second cab ride of the day wasn't any better than the first.

We were dropped at one end of the very brightly lit Hanover Street, near a market.

Kate seemed determined to have a good time. She took my hand and led me down the sidewalk, which was choked with people.

All the buildings were several stories tall, and the road was side-street narrow and lined with cars on both sides. This, combined with all the people spilling off the sidewalks into the street, made me feel a little claustrophobic.

We made our way a little farther down the street and then she pulled me off to the side to this red door with cracked paint and we stepped into a restaurant that was every cliché of an Italian restaurant you could ever want.

"This is our best bet. This is where I used to get my take-out all the time. Once or twice a week. It's fantastic." Kate whispered. That was her first reference ever to anything that had transpired while she was in Boston. She'd never mentioned people, places, work, how she got out, anything. The only thing she'd made clear was that there hadn't been anyone else. And, like I said, that's all I really cared about.

Upon seeing us, a little fat man who had been attending to something in the middle of the dining room dropped everything and rushed over to the podium we were standing next to, just past what I'd thought had been a coat room.

He took out a handkerchief and patted at his pink, perspiring face. "Name, please?"

"Oh, we don't have a reservation." Kate said, towering over him in her heels, "But we were hoping-"

He cut her off. "I'm sorry. We are fully booked for the evening."

"No doubt," Kate began, but I interrupted her with the suggestion we just order something to go.

She waved me off.

"Is Tony here?" she asked.

I suddenly felt a hulking presence near my right shoulder. I didn't know how they did things here in Boston but I thought maybe we were about to be tossed out.

"Jennifer?"

Kate turned around and smiled at whatever was behind me.

"You remember me?" she asked.

'Lurch' brushed past me as though I wasn't there and gave Kate a hug that picked her up off the floor. He must have been about 6'5", with black wavy hair that brushed his shoulders and he was so solid he made Evan look like a girl. He put Kate down and stepped back and I could see he was close to sixty, either that or he spent a lot of time in the sun. He grabbed both of her hands. "How could I forget you? How long has it been, Jennifer?" Full sentences revealed his accent.

"It's Kate, actually." She said apologetically. "It's a long story. Crime, corruption, Chicago…"

"This is a story I must hear, no?" So far everything this guy had said was a question.

Kate smiled. "Absolutely." She introduced me, and the guy looked surprised, like he hadn't noticed I was there. His handshake was firm and deliberately painful. I shuddered to think how he would have reacted to me if my last name had been "Bennett" or "Anderson"…

"Let's have a drink. You can tell me your story." She'd roped him in. He gave Kate his arm, then turned and said "Rufus, prepare a table for them." And they headed to the bar on the far side of the room.

I stopped for a second, and looked the guy over.

"_Rufus_?"

* * *

Tony poured us all two fingers of extremely good scotch, and Kate gave a brief, dramatic and almost comical re-telling of the events that led up to her stay in Boston, and condensed the years after that into a couple of paragraphs. She continually tried to include me in the conversation, but I still felt like I was on someone else's date.

Eventually, Rufus came over to inform Tony that the table was ready, and ask what he was going to do about the Spencers, and Tony's expression darkened. "We don't discuss business in front of guests_. I_ will take care of the Spencers." Rufus looked duly frightened and with a whispered apology, scurried off.

"My apologies." Tony said. To Kate. I still didn't exist.

Kate put her hand on his arm. "Tony, we couldn't possibly take someone else's table."

Speak for yourself. I'm starving. And I'm not loving Tony.

"Nonsense. They will wait ten minutes and I will give them conciliatory champagne and they will have a wonderful evening. And so will you." His accent had me looking for fangs.

"Why don't _we_ wait ten minutes. I'm enjoying the conversation. And the scotch." She punctuated her statement with a gulp that emptied her glass. He refilled it.

"You haven't changed at all." He said. Ten minutes ago he was just a guy who ran a restaurant where Kate had gotten take out for a year or two. How well did this guy know her? And what was he talking about…the way she drank scotch? Her consideration for others? The way she didn't want to take advantage? Something else?

She saw the look on my face and, when Tony glanced away, shook her head, winked at me. Nothing to worry about.

"Tony, I know you're so _very _busy, but I've really enjoyed catching up. It's been a long time… And you haven't told us what _you've_ been up to! What's ten more minutes for us? They're regulars, right? Let them have their table." Kate cajoled.

Tony apparently liked having his ego stroked. He called Rufus back over, gave him directions and then launched into his dialogue about the last six years or so.

Divorced. Again. Married a girl half his age. Gold-digger, but he didn't care: pre-nup. Baby boy going on three years old. Having a hard time keeping up with that. Two girlfriends. No trouble keeping up with _that_.

Kate gave him her full attention, that is, until every now and then he glanced away to check the room, to see that things were going all right, then she'd give me a look and occasional smile to let me know that she was just passing time and I was the main focus of her evening. That this was a means to an end.

After a period of Tony talking about himself that seemed like a lifetime, Rufus gestured at him.

"Ah," Tony said and went behind the bar again and poured us each a glass of chardonnay. "This will compliment your appetizer." I looked at Kate and she shrugged and I got the idea that our dinner menu was out of our hands. "No matter what, it'll be great." She whispered, as Tony came back around to escort us to our table.

It was worth the wait. It was in a little raised stucco alcove in the very back, drooping with live vines. Private. Romantic. Best in the house.

"You sure know how to work a room, don't you?" I asked Kate, pressing my hand into the small of her back as Tony led us over.

"Honestly, it's more about knowing how to work the most important _guy_ in the room." She whispered back.

"Do you manipulate me like that?"

"Absolutely. But you're _always_ the most important guy in the room. To me."

* * *

The only light was from the bright candle on the table. Kate took my hand and I realized that other than for the obvious, she hadn't touched me in weeks. You know, those little touches that reassure you things are going fine: straightening a collar, smoothing hair, buttoning a button, a pat on the head, a squeeze on the arm...

She hadn't been doing that.

I hadn't really noticed until now, but I realized I'd missed it.

She held on until she needed her hand in order to eat.

At one point she said "Thanks for keeping your mouth shut and letting me do this. I could see you wanted to jump in there a few times."

"He seemed a little familiar with you."

"Just a guy I got to know when I lived here. I'm really surprised he remembers me."

She _would_ be.

But I wasn't at all surprised that the guy still had her on his mental Rolodex.

_I _always had.

For the longest time she'd been all I could think about: waking up to the dark blue walls in my bedroom, making a burnt piece of toast in what, in a matter of days, had become _her _kitchen, lying on the couch staring at the ceiling, and especially the window over the kitchen sink…it felt like a museum after she left, with me trying to preserve little bits of Kate here and there, wherever I could.

It never bothered me with Cruz - it was her game, her terms, her _place_… never mine…

But I'd had a really hard time the first time I let Deb into my apartment. After a while it got easier until I finally got used to it and even convinced myself I was in love with her.

And that's what finally struck me now, watching Kate eating a tortellini alfredo that was so rich it would probably kill us both on the spot. And it hurt to have to admit it to myself, because I'd really thought at the time that I was better than that.

I'd never really loved Deb. I'd settled.

Because I couldn't have Kate, I'd had to have _somebody_.

I'd had to prove to myself that I could do it, make it work.

With somebody.

Anybody.

As long as it _worked._

And it might have. It really might have.

If we hadn't gone to New Hampshire.

After that I fought like hell, in spite of knowing what the outcome would be. I shouldn't have let it go so far – it wasn't fair to Deb. I should have told her right away, but I didn't. I couldn't.

I should have said something in the car on the way home.

How absurd would that have been… Two hours out from the city: "Oh, hey, Hon – by the way, that girl at the desk who checked us out? She's the love of my life. You and I, we're over, and I'm going back even if she spits on me."

I wondered how things would be right now if I'd gone through with it. Married Deb. Never gone back for Kate.

I couldn't even imagine.

But I _could _imagine Kate. With Joe. Hostessing huge happy family gatherings. Kate and Joe and their three kids (yeah – _they_ get three) up at the beautiful B & B, and all the cousins and aunts and uncles, the way she belonged, instead of what she had now: this tiny cluster of people pretending to be a family. And I wondered…if Joe had been a little more assertive, a little less of a gentleman, would I have Kate now?

And here I was, second-guessing _Kate's_ life when she'd made it clear there'd been no one else and I'd had three or four other people involved in mine.

"Are you okay?" Kate asked. "You're not eating. Staring into space." She was on her third glass of wine. The waiter kept refilling.

"Take it easy." I said, nodding at her glass.

"You wanted me to relax and enjoy. That's what I'm doing."

"You need to be able to stand and walk out the door to get the cab back to the hotel." I pointed out.

"Fireman's carry. I'm positive you can do that." She smiled.

"I don't want to have to."

"You can have your way with me."

"Not like this."

"We're married. I'm not some drunk date you're going to feel remorse about afterward."

"I never felt remorse." Words designed to make her hurt. I don't know why I said them.

She pressed her lips together and thought about that, studying me.

"Typical. And I'll bet you never called after, either." She took another sip of wine. "Never called _me_."

"Do you know how much time I spent trying to find you?" Because I felt as though I was doing it all over again. Boston was a mistake. Too many ghosts.

"What do you mean?"

"The time I spent trying to find you after you left. Faith thought I was nuts."

"Was it because of _me _or because I _left_?" And _her_ words weren't exactly spoken out of kindness, either.

Good question. I wasn't sure. She knew how to get to the heart of the matter. And she was implying that the only reason I'd gone after her had been pride. She may have been right.

We'd been in a great place tonight. I don't know why I brought up the past, been preoccupied with it. It was as though I was sabotaging myself and this entire trip.

"Tell me truly," she paraphrased, "when you found out I was gone did you get engaged that same day or did you wait a week out of respect for the dead?"

Well. There _are _things that bother Kate.

I guess we _both _had unresolved issues under the surface.

_In vino veritas_.

Tonight was tanking fast.


	25. Ch25 Add It Up

"Lasagna." Kate said.

"What?"

"Lasagna from Tony's restaurant."

I shook my head. I had no idea what she was talking about.

"It was my dinner: what I dropped on the floor when I saw the New York Post. With your picture. 'Fighting for life'." She quoted, sniffing back tears.

Oh. Yeah, Boston was a brilliant idea. All I'd done was dig up bad feelings and bad memories.

"I don't want to go over all of this. You've had too much to drink…"

"Not enough." She wandered over to the fridge and took out a little bottle of Bacardi.

I took it out of her hand and put it back. "You've had _more_ than enough."

She ran her hand down the side of my face. "You were dead. Faith told me. _She's _why you're here."

I didn't want to think about it, I didn't want to talk about it. Not now. Not ever. I stepped away from her.

"It's over. Done. Gone."

"Really? Just like that?" She squinted at me, then she exploded, " _Why_ did you bring me _back_ here? I was ready to _go _– I was _leaving_, but because of what happened to you I stayed in this _hell-hole_ another full _year_! Do you really think this whole experience was something I wanted to _re-live_? It was _horrible_! The worst two years of my life! If you _really _wanted to give me a 'Vacation From Hell', you should have just dumped me back in Evan's bedroom!"

Oh, wow.

I had to dig my fingernails into the palm of my hand in order to keep my temper under control.

"Look." I said, tightly, tensely, yet rather reasonably, I thought. "Obviously I made a mistake. I thought you liked it here. I'm sorry."

"Can't we just go home?"

That just ticked me off.

"Our flight's on Saturday." I snapped. "Suck it up. Deal." After that, I was through. "You know what, drink all you want. I don't care." I dropped to the sofa and turned on the TV.

She took the Bacardi and a couple of other little bottles from the fridge and disappeared into the bedroom, slamming the door.

* * *

I awoke to the smell of hotel room coffee.

Kate had apparently gotten up and brewed it. Either that or the service here was stellar. And very stealthy.

I was one giant crunched up cramp, having been too stupid to unfold the sleeper sofa.

I unfolded _myself_, stood and stretched.

I poured what was certain to be a really crappy cup of coffee, and boy was I right. It tasted like coffee-flavored Lestoil. Smelled like it too.

The bedroom door was open, so I took that as an invitation and wandered in, horrible coffee in hand.

Kate was standing at the window gazing at the harbor. She'd showered and was wearing the hotel's white fluffy robe, holding her own mug of coffee.

I could see the airport, and the runway with quite a few planes lined up, but what caught my attention was a really big 747 making the turn, and accelerating for take-off right in our direction.

Even with the speed and very steep ascent it looked as though it was coming right at us and wouldn't clear the building.

Kate gave a little scream and stepped back, dropping her coffee.

I set mine down and put my arms around her as the plane passed overhead.

She didn't push me away. She was trembling.

"That's exactly how I imagined it."She said breathlessly. I didn't need to ask what 'it' she was referring to.

"It's just a flight path."

She nodded and gently broke away from me, moving back to the window, mesmerized, pressing her hands to the glass. The planes, of all sizes, were coming every two minutes.

She stood there for nearly forty-five minutes watching them silently.

I cleaned up her spill and sat in the arm chair on the far side of the room with my lousy cup of coffee, watching her, wondering what was going through her mind.

Finally, she came over, took the mug out of my hand and set it on the dresser then curled up in my lap, arms around my neck. "I'm sorry." She murmured sadly.

"S'okay. Me too."

* * *

I can't even describe what I felt when I found what I found in her make-up bag in the bathroom that morning.

Doubt.

Fear.

Hell.

I'd just been looking for the little tiny travel toothpaste.

I couldn't even let myself think about the implications.

Yet.

* * *

We had breakfast, well, brunch, really, downstairs at the hotel restaurant. I was amazed I was able to concentrate on the conversation. I didn't even know how to broach the subject with her, so I let it go for the time being.

Kate wanted to go to a museum, a real museum, but she settled for the Museum of Science because there were enough hands-on exhibits to keep me occupied. But it was hard for me to enjoy anything with what I had on my mind.

We then took a cab over to the Boston Commons, because Kate said she wanted to go there.

Compared to Central Park it was kind of a postage stamp. Anywhere I stood, I could see from one side to the other. The swan boats were tucked away for the season, but that was okay – Kate just wanted to walk around.

She seemed to be giving the whole trip a renewed effort, which, under other circumstances would have been great.

I knew she could tell I was a little preoccupied, and I wasn't about to wreck the entire day. But every time I looked at her I had doubts. Worries. I couldn't understand why she'd do something like this without telling me. I mean, knowing how she was feeling, I understood _why _she'd gone this route, but not why she hadn't thought I should know about it. Unless there was something more to it that I wasn't seeing.

She dragged me into the '_Cheers_' bar, which was right there, and was really disappointing because it looked nothing like what you saw on TV. Kate told me there was a replica of the TV bar at Quincy Market, whatever that was.

We walked the Freedom Trail, checked out a bar called 'The Black Rose' and its counterpart 'The Purple Shamrock', which were both right near that Quincy Market thing.

After a while, near dusk, we headed over to the Aquarium. We spent a good deal of time walking the ramp around the monstrous circular tank in the middle. Kate liked watching the sharks, but what really delighted her was the penguins on the ground floor. We almost didn't do anything else but watch them dive and swim. She thought they were cute.

I'd been watching her all day, looking for a clue as to what was going on with her, but I got nothing. Everything seemed to be as it had been, but clearly, from the little package in my pocket, hadn't been for at least three weeks. If not more. Who knew what else I'd missed.

She stood watching the penguins with this little smile on her face.

"Dinner?" I said.

"Hm." She replied. "Where?"

"Over there." I gestured out the front of the building. There was a seafood restaurant right across from the entrance.

"_Legal_. Sounds good. It's early enough, we can get in."

I didn't bring up the irony of a visit to an aquarium and then the visit to the seafood place just across the street. Although it probably would have made her laugh.

Blubber for dinner.

* * *

It had been all I could think about all day. And I still wasn't sure how to approach it. Who knew how she'd react? And this wasn't really the time or the place.

After we ordered, I just studied her silently.

"What?" she asked.

I didn't answer.

"What!" she demanded.

I just shook my head.

"You're letting your hair get long. I'ts starting to curl," she said.

"This is what you're sniping about?"

"I'm not sniping, just making an observation. I like it."

I was impatient. "Why are we here? You're unhappy. What can I do?"

"I don't know."

"See, give me a problem and I can fix it. I can't fix it if I don't understand the problem."

She shrugged. "You thought a couple of days away would make everything better?"

"Are you leaving me?" I asked.

"No." she said shortly, looking away. That told me the thought had crossed her mind, and suddenly the one thing I'd never been more certain of in my life seemed as unstable as one of Mikey's block towers.

"What do we do?"

"I don't know!" she repeated, eyes closed, frustrated. She _didn't _know, and I thought about how many times I'd looked to her for answers and this time she didn't have any.

I couldn't think about it anymore. It had to come out. I had to know.

I took the blue packet out of my pocket and tossed it across the table at her.

She quickly scooped it up and put it in her purse, giving me an incomprehensible look.

"You got something you want to tell me?"

"No." She said.

"Really." This had been nagging at me all day, so I just blurted out what had been bothering me."So there's nothing going on between you and Brian?" Because, really, what was I supposed to think?

And I knew instantly by the look on her face that I'd made a mistake.

"That's what you think of me."She nodded, sucked in a breath, covered her mouth with her hand. Breathed out through her nose. Keeping tears back.

She rose.

Snagged the waiter.

"My _friend _here will be dining _alone_ tonight."

And she walked out.

By the time I paid the bill for the food we never got and stormed outside she was gone.

* * *

"Kate!" I pounded on the door.

She'd set the safety bolt. My key card worked but I couldn't get beyond that.

"Huh." I heard her say through the two inch gap.

"Let me in."

"Pff."

"I'll make a scene. You know I will. And it'll be loud."

She snapped back the bolt, opened the door and looked at me with contempt. "How dare you even imply," was all she said. But there were tears. She turned and went into the bedroom, again, slamming the door. This time locking it.

Boy, this was great.

Just great.

* * *

The next morning, Kate called room service for breakfast.

I'd had the presence of mind to open the sleeper sofa. She carelessly dropped a plate of food next to me and went to eat her breakfast in the bedroom. Only she didn't, as far as I could tell when we were getting ready to leave. Just one tiny bite out of a croissant. Eggs congealing, fruit left to dry out.

Breakfast: silent.

Cab to the airport: silent.

Flight to New York: silent.

Drive home: silent.

When we actually got home she _did_ say hi to Mom and Sul, kissed the kids, then disappeared into the bedroom with a harsh slam of the door.

"What did you do?" Mom and Sully asked in unison.

"Shut up." I went to the kitchen for a glass of water and left them looking at each other.


	26. CH26 Silent All These Years

Warning: Kate uses objectionable language. Cover the kiddies' ears.

* * *

Three days.

She hadn't said a single word to me in almost three days.

Every attempt I made at an apology was met with stony silence.

That first night we were home, when I finally went to bed she instantly got up, grabbed her pillow and went out to sleep on the couch.

The next night I was just going to sleep out there without disturbing her, but I figured if she was going to be this stubborn, then so was I. Because I wasn't _completely_ wrong, here.

I dropped into bed heavily, deliberately jarring her awake, and with an exaggerated sigh of contempt she was gone in an instant.

_My _bed.

Big.

But empty.

By the next day I'd had enough of the silent treatment, so before work I came up behind her while she was doing the lunch dishes, kids napping. I put my hands on her shoulders. She shrugged me off instantly.

"Get your goddamned hands _off_ me. Are you fucking _kidding _me?

Stunned, I let go and backed off. "Look. I'm _sorry_. Okay?"

I didn't know how to react. She'd never spoken to me like that before. She'd never _spoken_ like that before.

Not a word. She didn't even turn to look at me.

"So it's all right for you to make jokes about the UPS guy, but the second I say something about Brian-" I knew I was just making it worse, but I couldn't stop myself.

She whirled around. Jabbed me with her finger, raising her voice. "Mine was a _joke._ Yours was an _accusation!_" She was furious.

"Sure, I jumped to conclusions, but it wouldn't have happened if you'd told me about the pills to begin with! If I remember correctly you jumped to some conclusions of your own a few months ago!" My voice was louder than hers. I lowered it. Sleeping kids. "Can you even _take_ those with your other medication?"

"Who the hell cares? What difference does it make? But I might add that _my_ conclusions came from the fact that she happened to have her hands on you and her tongue in your mouth. _By the way_!" She added to punctuate her statement.

" _I_ _care_. You want your kids to find you lying on the living room floor one morning? And I didn't let her do that."

"I _know_. I _gave_ you the benefit of the doubt."

"_After_ the fact." I interjected. Why was I doing this to myself?

"_Which_," she continued, "is apparently something _you_ can't seem to do. Even though you know damn well there's never been anything to doubt." She turned away.

"Kate…" I said, letting my hand hover over her shoulder, tentatively, yet knowing better. I finally just backed away. An apology would only make things worse.

"Leave me alone. Go to work. Go make poor _Jerry _miserable for the next eight hours."

Unfortunate for him, but that's _exactly_ what I did.

* * *

I got home late, but Kate was still up, reading a book on the couch.

She didn't even look up when I came in.

I stood there for a minute. Waiting.

Silence.

Tossed my keys in the basket.

No response.

I made an attempt at conversation. Or _something_. "What was for dinner?" I asked.

"Sorry," she said sarcastically, flipping a page. "I was too busy screwing around with Brian to prepare dinner for _any_body. There's cold pizza. Help yourself."

I hesitated. Sighed. "Can we just get past this?"

"Nope-ah." She said curtly, deliberately adding the extra syllable like Amanda did, and flipping another page. I doubted she was actually reading anymore; she was too agitated.

I went out to the kitchen and surveyed the pizza. Half olives, which Amanda liked, and half meatball, which Kate and Mikey liked.

That tiny kid knew how to fold a piece of New York pizza. And barely eat any of it. Which may be why he was so tiny. There was a paper plate sitting there that she hadn't thrown out with a piece he'd obviously gnawed at – Kate had cut some into tiny bite-sized pieces for him, but he'd gone after the 'big piece'. Little teeth marks on the crust. Leave it to him to attack it from the most challenging side. With like four teeth.

Six pieces left - Kate hadn't had any.

That's when I saw the empty Chardonnay bottle next to the sink.

I closed the box. I no longer had an appetite.

I moved to the doorway. "How much of that did you have?"

"None. Haven't been hungry in days."

"The wine."

She looked back over her shoulder at me. "There was only a glass left in there." She returned her attention to her book. "It was the _vodka_ that I hit hard." She added.

"That's just not funny."

"Oh. I thought we were _making things up_. You know, things that _**never happened**!"_ she snapped.

"I've said I'm sorry a hundred times. I was wrong! But you should have told me!"

" 'Woman's right' to do whatever the hell she wants with her reproductive system. Blame society."

"I can't do this now." I gave up, threw my coat on the armchair by the fireplace only because I knew she hated it, and went to bed.

Sleepless.

* * *

After Maurice had gone to bed I was so annoyed I couldn't concentrate on my book anymore, so I poured some vodka out of spite and opened my laptop idly.

There'd been nothing entertaining on TV, which was why I'd picked up the book. Now I needed something to keep my mind occupied.

Brian was on, and I tried chatting with him, but he apparently wasn't in a chatty mood. So I surfed around a bit and found one local news item that really grabbed my attention.

Turns out that another prostitute had been raped, beaten and dropped in an alley. Two teenagers out goofing around high on Red Bull had tripped over her at one in the morning.

This guy was doing his thing right in Maurice's work zone.

Same area as where Julia had been assaulted. Might even be the same alley.

Only this girl hadn't been able to drag herself out of the alley to a shelter and refuse medical care.

She was in the hospital being cared for and having all kinds of evidence removed from her.

If she wouldn't talk, her body would.

Julia had mentioned that she'd been threatened, and I assumed that was the case here as well. I wondered if this girl had been conscious would she have gone the route Julia did...or would she have called for help...

The hell of it was that there was no mystery here. Julia knew exactly who her attacker was, but worried that no one would take her word over his. That no one would believe her.

I'd made it clear that I believed her, but I stopped short of telling her I knew _exactly_ how she felt. That was something I wasn't ready to reveal.

This guy had to be taken down, and these two girls were the only ones who could do it, that I knew of. I was positive neither would say anything to the police.

I had to get one of them to talk to me.

* * *

At six I was sipping freshly brewed coffee and staring out the big window in the living room, waiting for more of the sun to capture the sky.

It was so early I was very surprised to hear Maurice shuffle out of the bedroom sleepily.

"Up all night?" He said, voice a little hoarse, an inch away but not touching and I could feel his just-out-of-bed warmth and for a minute I almost just wanted to give up and forget I was angry.

I came so close to just leaning back into him like I always did, letting him put his arms around me, maybe letting him take me back to bed with him...

But I had to remember I was tired and my judgement wasn't at its best.

I couldn't just let it go - he'd been way out of line. I could understand that he sometimes spoke impulsively, but I couldn't understand where the notion of an affair with Brian had even come from....what had made him think that was even a _possibility_?

"I have some errands to run today and I'd like to go see Julia." I said indifferently.

"Fine." He grunted, and his cold, detached, defensive tone almost made me wish I'd chosen my other option.

"Go back to bed." I said. He was clearly exhausted. "Sleep until you hear them, or they come in and wake you up. Whichever comes first."

"I'm up. Why don't you go to bed and go out later? It'll make things a little happier for everyone involved. I don't like the way you're doing things right now."

_I_ didn't like the way he said that.

I turned. "_Things_? What things?"

"_Every. __Thing_."

"Is this because I only got one pizza?"

"Don't joke about this."

I sighed. "I don't know _what_ to do about 'this'."

"How about dealing with it instead of avoiding it?"

"Fine." I said, _very_ reasonably. "What made you accuse me of fucking Brian?" That was a little unfair this early, but I was hurting and I didn't really care.

He swallowed hard, glanced out the window, then back at me with a look that told me I'd better tread more lightly. I had certainly been trying to incite, but I knew another statement like that would cause an explosion.

"I made a mistake." He said in a deadly monotone, with a glare I identified as 'work Maurice' - a look I knew better than almost anyone. A look I'd caused, memorized and adored in the beginning, but didn't appreciate so much right now. "But you lied to me."

"I didn't _lie_ about anything."

"You didn't tell me."

"They're just birth control pills. To regulate things. To keep me from -" I couldn't finish. I gave an involuntary sniffle, and was pissed that I'd revealed a weakness. Dammit.

And his eyes suddenly went soft, and he took me in his arms and repeated, "I made a mistake."

Even though I knew it wouldn't help, I added, "You sure as hell did."

"I know I did." He admitted. "I got crazy."

"Yeah, you did. What made you? What made you think-"

"Nothing." He interrupted. "_Nothing_."

"It's not like you-" I began.

"Yeah, well, you're not like_ you _right now either."

After a minute, I said, "So, what do we do?"

"We keep going."

A simple answer to a complicated question.

* * *

I went to see Julia, but she wouldn't really talk. All she did was confirm it was the same alley, and the same guy, most likely. She wouldn't even identify the other girl, although she made it plain she knew who she was.

She told me the alley was right where they 'worked'.

And here she was, healed up nicely, ready to go right back to it.

I tried to talk her into letting me help her get herself set up with another line of work, but she said she was afraid to try anything different.

I told her that one day the desire to move on would overcome the fear, and I knew that from experience, but I wasn't able to put it into effective words. I tried, but I wasn't sure whether or not it got through.

When I got home, I asked Maurice if he knew the area in question, and it was one he was familiar with, but not one that he and Jerry frequented. But, he added, there were some other guys who went out there pretty often to "harrass the whores".

And suddenly everything made sense.

Julia's reaction when I told her Maurice could help her. Her unwillingness to identify her attacker. Why she was convinced no one would believe her.

Maurice worked with the guy.

* * *

I didn't say anything to him.

He'd get involved. And that's the last thing I wanted. If it turned out there was some sort of investigation, I wanted him pure as a snowflake and dumb as dirt on this.

If I said anything, he'd get this over-inflated sense of justice or whatever and start going down there and checking things out and I didn't want some prostitute mistakenly picking him or Jerry out of a line-up just because they looked familiar.

While he was getting ready for work, I e-mailed Brian and told him I had something I had to do, and he might just get a pretty good three-dimensional story out of it. Bad guy gets caught, realistic profile of life on the streets, bad girl makes a new life for herself. I was a little shaky on that last one, but I was determined to make it happen. With at least one of them.

I'll be honest, I was definitely thinking about what a great story it would make, but my main concern was for the safety of those girls. I had to do this in a way that didn't draw attention to the fact that I was investigating. I didn't know how many women or girls worked down there, but I was absolutely certain they all knew the guy who's done this. I just needed one girl - just one - to tell me who it was. And either Julia or the other victim to confirm it.

It took Brian about thirty seconds to approve, as long as I "played it safe and kept Maurice in the loop, since that was his thing".

You bet, Brian. Right-o. Whatever you say.

* * *

Well, where do I start?

There was no name in the newspaper. She was a rape victim.

They'd quoted a paramedic in the article and it was someone I'd met once or twice, so I told Maurice I had another errand or two to run before he left for the afternoon, and escaped.

I went to the firehouse and, miraculously, the paramedic in question was actually there, just finishing up his shift, overwhelmed with paperwork.

I flat out old him Julia was another victim and wouldn't talk, and this girl was the only hope we had of finding the guy who'd done this. And I blatently asked for her name.

He scrunched up his beautiful young almost-innocent face. "You know I can't tell you anything."

"I know. But I was hoping - considering the circumstances..."

He just shook his head. "Wish I could."

So I tried the hospital.

No go. On all fronts.

Frustrated, I stuck some money in the disgusting coffee machine and got the crappy cup of coffee in the blackjack cup. With the fake cream.

I turned back and wandered through the hall.

All the people at the desk that had stonewalled me were now gone. All I could see was a busy janitor and a harried orderly rushing toward me. I got in his way and gently grasped his arm.

"Can you help me?" I asked softly. That stopped him.

"Maybe. What do you want?" His tone was abrupt.

I gestured at my coffee. "I was visiting my sister and I came out to get a coffee and got all turned around - I can't remember where her room was exactly."

"Well, who is she?"

I lowered my voice. "You probably don't know her by name, but she was the one brought in beaten..and -" I hesitated, "raped."

"Oh, her." He lowered his voice as well. "As a matter of fact I just checked on her. 227."

"Thank you so much!" I gushed gratefully, squeezing his arm. "If she wakes up and I'm not there, I don't know _what_ she'll do!" That was a gamble. What if she'd been awakewhen he'd checked on her? I'd better be more careful.

"No prob." He detached himself and scurried off down the hall. And so did I. Whew.

Fortunately, the girl was in a room by herself. I eased the door shut with a soft click. She appeared to be sleeping.

I tiptoed across the room and carefully picked up her chart.

Grace.

Grace Abbot.

Age: sixteen.

That made my stomach churn. This guy would pay, if I had anything to say about it.

All I could think of was the sing-song math taught to us in school: 16 and 16 is 32. She was half my age; she could even be my daughter.

I glanced over everything, half of it a blur, half of it incomprehensible, then flipped the top page back down and put the clip board back where it belonged.

Then I looked_ her _over. She was a mess. A swollen black and blue and greenish-yellow mess. She looked so tiny and helpless tucked into the big bed, pillows drawfing her.

Suddenly she opened her eyes. I didn't know what to do. I hadn't expected that. I'd _hoped_ for it, but I hadn't expected it.

"Who are you?" She asked through bruised, swollen lips.

"A friend." I said. "I've been helping Julia at the shelter. She asked me to check in on you, make sure you were okay." Tiny white lie.

"How is _she_?" It was obviously an effort for her to talk.

I sat down on the very edge of the bed and held her hand. "She's doing really well, honey. Just like you'll be in no time. You're going to come out of this okay."

"I should have listened to her." Grace murmured, and it hurt me to watch her make the effort to talk. "When he was putting her in the car she turned and told me to go. To get out. F_orever_. She _knew_."

So Julia knew ahead of time what she was in for. Which meant there were victims before her. I was definitely not going to let her off the hook for this.

But, okay, Grace had been the one to open the door, I just had to walk through it.

"So you know who did this to you?"

She nodded.

"Grace, the hospital has taken all kinds of evidence from your body. They have what it takes to put this guy away. All you need to do is name him."

"And tell everyone _all_ about it. And point him out in court. And have him looking at me while I do it. I watch TV. I know it's not that simple."

"That will be rough. But I'll be there for you if you want me to be. Maybe Julia, too." That was a little too much to hope for, but it sounded good.

"I don't know." She looked away.

I squeezed her hand.

"I know he's a police officer." I said bluntly. Her gaze snapped back to me, eyes narrowing.

"How do you know that?"

"Just by things Julia has said. She won't tell me who it is. That's why I'm here to see you."

"_I'm_ not talking." She said stubbornly.

"It happened to me." I blurted out desperately. "Years ago. Different guy."

That got her attention. She waited.

"Only he drove me home instead of dropping me in an alley."

She eyed me warily.

And it all just spilled out, I don't know whether it was because I wanted answers or because I needed to let it all go.

"I know what it's like to have someone take something from you that you didn't want to give. I know what it's like to sit in the dark and know - _know_ - that if you say anything no one is going to believe you. Knowing that after a certain point he just could have kept hitting and after a while you'd never have seen the light of another day, and you wouldn't even know the difference. And I know what it's like to run away and hide from yourself and pretend you're okay when you're really not. But you have to realize it's all about pride and power and about making you feel like that little tiny human being who has no voice. But you have a voice, Grace. A _big_, _loud_ voice! And you can use that voice to keep this man from victimizing someone else." It wasn't until I was finished that I realized I had tears running down my face. I swiped them away viciously. Evan doesn't get any more of me.

She looked as though she was thinking about it. I thought maybe I'd made some headway.

"But they won't believe me because of what I do."

"What do you do?" I asked gently. "You stopped doing that two days ago. That's not you any more. You're moving on. You never have to go back to that. You never should have been there to begin with. You have places to go and people to see...a whole new life to start."

"Is that what you did?" She asked innocently. I really didn't want to go over all this again, but I guess I had to.

"I wish I could tell you I did the right thing and then moved on, Grace, but I didn't. I ran away. Because I thought no one would believe me. But I should have done the right thing."

And if I'd done the right thing they probably would have destroyed me. In every way possible. "This is one guy. His only advantage is that he has a badge, but he's betrayed that. He's betrayed _you._ He's supposed to be out there making things _right_."

She snorted out a laugh that obviously hurt her. She coughed painfully. I squeezed her hand.

"Grace, I know you know who he is, I just need you to tell me. That's all."

"That's not all and I know it!" She sat up in the bed, wincing even as she did it. Okay - this was going nowhere.

"Okay, Grace." I let go of her hand and stood. "You and Julia, you refuse to talk and you leave me no other choice. I'm going down there to find out for myself."

That really got her agitated. "No! Don't!" she yelled, arms outstretched. "He'll kill you if he finds out!"

"That's just a chance I'll have to take." I backed toward the door. She was silent. "But I want you to think about this, Grace. _My _guy, I had the chance - the _miraculous_ chance - to look him straight in the eye and call him what he was. And It. Felt. _Good_! You have the chance to see yours brought to _justice_, to _pay_ for his actions. And you get to call him what he is. In front of everybody. To shame him like he tried to shame you. Make him hurt."

Like I couldn't.

And suddenly I was checking my motivation.

Was this about me?

Partially.

Was this about Evan?

A little bit.

But mostly...

...this was about justice.

For Grace. And Julia.

They had the very same opportunity that I hadn't taken advantage of. I couldn't let them allow it to pass.


	27. Ch27 Just Between You and Me

About a week had passed and things were starting to get back to normal with Kate. They weren't great, but better that they used to be. We were actually exchanging words. On a semi-regular basis. And not mean ones, either. I think she'd almost forgiven me.

But this 'light work load' thing Brian had been talking about was nowhere to be seen. It was a joke.

Kate was working as much as ever, just doing almost all of it from home, although she'd had the occasional appointment or something or other she'd needed to get done at the office.

She did mentioned to me that she'd like to be able to work a late night or two each week in order to look into a scandal involving cab medallions and how they were issued in the city. She said she wanted to go out and interview cabbies during their off-peak hours. I told her I'd see what we could do.

As if those two issues weren't stress-inducing enough, Jerry started acting all secretive and strange.

Although it was _more_ stressful finally finding out why...

* * *

Banging open the door to the locker room, I yelled, "Hey, Gidget! Let's go!"

Jerry was taking his sweet time.

I heard a soft rustling and low voices. I stepped into the room, the door closing behind me with a low bump. "Jer?"

"Just a sec!"

"What do you got a girl in here?" I'd been about to go find him, but I'd stayed in place, shuffling impatiently.

He came around the corner of the lockers, grabbed my shoulder and turned me, pushing me toward the door.

"I was just straightening out some details with someone."

He yanked the door open and shoved me out.

"What details?"

"Softball league."

"That's spring. It's October_."_

"We plan ahead."

I stopped and turned around and he nearly ran me down. I heard the soft click of the door at the far end of the hall, around the corner. The other exit from the locker room.

"What's going on?"

"Drop it." He said tersely, with a stern look.

We were running late, because of me, so I did, for the time being.

But once we got on the road, I pointed out something I'd noticed in the hallway outside the locker room: "You smell like perfume. Now, I can deal with all your kittens and rainbows and glitter and sunshine, but this…this is too much."

He stared out the window, jaw tight.

After about a half a minute he grudgingly replied, "Fine. I had a girl in there, but it's not what you think."

"You know, since it's _you_, I actually believe that."

"We were just making plans for tomorrow night. She happened to be in the neighborhood."

"So it's not someone we work with?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but no."

"That's good, don't ever. Because things can become a total nightmare, believe me, I-"

He cut me off. "I know _better_ than that."

I think I may have just been insulted.

I gave it a pause then asked: "How long have you been seeing her?"

"About a month."

"Nailed her yet?"

"No!"

"I forgot. You're a saint."

"_You're_ not." He fired back, then added thoughtfully. "But Kate is. Incidentally, how long was it before you and Kate-"

I interrupted him. "Don't turn this around on me. This is all about you."

We went on in silence for a while, then I asked him, "So, where'd you meet her? How old is she? What does she do? Have you met Mom and Dad?"

"She's twenty-two-" he began. "I met her at the house-"

"Twenty-two! You're _thirty_!" I interrupted.

He looked over at me. "They were all wrong about you. You're _brilliant_."

"You're testy today."

"All of a sudden an eight-year age gap is unacceptable to you. To _you_."

"Well, Kate and I are different. And it's seven and a half, not eight."

"Yeah? How'd you meet Kate? I'm not up on all the gossip."

Based on his tone I was guessing that at some point Faith had filled him in on every lovely detail, especially the humiliating ones.

"I don't want to talk about this."

"You keep bringing her up."

"No, I don't! _You_ do!"

"Where'd you meet her?"

"Nightclub." I said tersely, to shut him up.

"You're not a nightclub kind of guy."

"I was on a call."

"Ah, man in uniform and all that…alcohol feuled attraction on her part...but then it would _have_ to be, wouldn't it?"

"It wasn't like that." I said impatiently, ignoring the dig. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I seem to be the only person who can make you acutely uncomfortable. And I like it. How long?"

"This is not a topic of conversation."

"That night?"

"No!" How had he put me on the defensive? I may have underestimated the guy. "I am not talking about this."

"Do you have a sizeable trust fund?" he asked.

"_What_? No."

"Just asking. There's a lot of speculation about exactly why Kate's with you."

"Okay, now you're just saying things to get a reaction. Let's get back to the subject at hand. Is this one of those perfect Disney romances? Love at first sight?"

And he actually gave me a straight answer. "We're getting to know each other. But she's definitely marriage material."

"_Marriage _material? A month and you've got a wedding on your mind? She may be marriage material, but you're starting to sound like _stalker_ material. She's just out of college, starting a career, she's young, maybe wants to see the world…_this _won't work out. Especially not if you push things. " I said skeptically.

"How do you know she went to college?"

"I don't. I know _you_. She's probably a librarian."

"No-"

"Although where you'd meet a librarian-"

"I told you I met her at the house." He paused, took a deep breath and blurted out, "She was meeting her mother for lunch."

Click.

I closed my eyes, then realized I was the one driving.

I pulled the car to the curb in a red zone so abruptly a few pedestrians were startled enough to jump back.

I turned on him."What's her name?" I think I actually growled.

"I'm not supposed to tell you."

I had to resist grabbing his throat and squeezing it out of him, even though I already knew. I think he saw that.

"Okay, okay," he relented. "Three syllables. First syllable sounds like-"

"I'm not laughing. If _any _of those syllables sound like '_Emily_' you're a dead man."

"See? This is why they told me not to say anything."

"They? _They_?"

"Well, I _had_ to ask Faith's permission to date her daughter."

"You had to ask Faith's permission to date her daughter." I repeated in a monotone. "Well, you know what, Chip, you're probably about the only guy on the face of the planet who'd still do that." I put the car back in gear and white-knuckled the wheel just so I could keep my hands off his throat.

"It was just cuz it was her." He mumbled. "Out of respect."

"I swear to God if you so much as tie her shoe, I'll break your arms."

"I'm a gentleman. If she's in danger due to a loose shoelace, I will absolutely make sure it's no longer an issue." His way of telling me to back off.

"So, it's going to be like this, is it?"

He was silent.

"One detail!" I threatened. "I don't want to hear a single detail, I don't want to know anything, because I swear to God-"

"You know I wouldn't. Not to you, not to anybody."

"I don't even want to know where you go or what you do or if you kiss her goodnight on the forehead or the cheek, because it sure as hell had better not be on the mouth."

"I feel bad." He said.

"You should!"

"For Amanda." He added.

"You're already on thin ice. If you want to survive the next five minutes you'd better leave my daughter out of it."

"It's closer than you think." He kept looking over at me, but I kept my eyes on the road. If I looked at him I'd lose it.

"She's _five_!"

"I just want to be around to see how you handle it."

"I can tell you right now you keep this up you're definitely not gonna be."

He knew well enought to change the subject.

"You know, the first thing I noticed was her eyes. They actually sparkled - and not weird like that Star Trek episode-"

"Oh, God. You're a Star Trek geek."

"And she was confident. Accomplished. Professional." He'd become almost immune to my comments.

"She got that from her mother. _Who_, by the way, could mess you up worse than I could."

He ignored that, too. "I haven't met her father. Yet."

"He's a tool. Don't waste your time."

"I have to. I need to know what I'm getting into. I don't date lightly. I'm serious about this."

I finally looked over at him. "Is _she_?"

He looked down. "I don't know." I could tell it bothered him.

"Hey." I said, and grudgingly admitted, "if I could hand-pick someone for Em he'd probably be you."

I glanced over at him and he gave me a grateful look.

"Besides, if you don't treat her right I can always buckle up and run your side of the car into the corner of a brick building."

That made him smile. Then he turned somber. "You know, she told me she made a rule that she'd never, ever be with a cop. Because of you."

I thought about that for a second. "Me? She thought I was so bad that she'd rule out an entire profession?"

"Not because of you. Because of what _happened_ to you."

I can't even describe how that made me feel. It was a swirling mix of both good and really bad. It could just as easily have happened to Faith.

She'd been there that day when I'd walked out. That had been a tough day, but then they all had been, really. And she'd been there. Like her mother. All along.

And I suddently felt terrible that I hadn't kept in touch the way I should have. Sure, Kate sent the birthday cards, but we could have done a lot more for a college girl. I hadn't seen her in I didn't know how long. She was a woman already. And I'd pretty much missed it all.

I took a deep breath and said words I didn't want to say. How had he gotten me on his side?

"Well, see right there, that's a tell." I said. "She obviously thinks you're worth the risk. She would _have_ to be serious."

He sighed. "I hope so. She's something special."

"Yeah, she is. Definitely that. But watch out - the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

"Got any more platitudes?"

"Aren't you smart. I'm just saying. If she's turned out half as tough as her mother, you'd better not cross her."

"I don't plan to." He looked out the window.

"You wouldn't." I conceded. "But I think-" and I paused, because I couldn't believe I was going to commit myself to this, "if you ever get yourself in a tough spot, I'll back you up. Because I know you. Because I know you would always have her best interests in mind. Because I know you wouldn't intentionally hurt her. I can't believe I'm saying things like this! You suck! What kind of man are you?"

He laughed.

"No details." I emphasized. "No hands on her. No sleepovers."

"Well, those last two are up to her."

I couldn't tell if he was deliberately baiting me or not.

"Fine. I'll have a conversation with her."

"No, no no no no!"

"No _sleepovers_!" I stressed.

"Agreed! I'm not that guy, anyway."

I gave him my smile. "I knew that. I just wanted to hear you say it."

He sighed and sagged back in his seat.

* * *

A while later we'd stopped for a dinner break and were heading back to the RMP with coffee and Jerry grabbed me and stopped at a news stand.

"I need magazines." He said.

He was a magazine guy.

Fantastic.

At least they weren't comics.

_Games_. Unbelievable.

_Guns and Ammo_. Okay by me.

_Cooking Light_?

"What's _that_ all about?"

"I don't want to look like you." He said with a smirk.

Okay, maybe I was five or so pounds heavier, _maybe_. But that was cold.

"I'm going to tell Kate how mean you are." I said, idly flipping through a _National Geographic. _The stand had an amazing variety of magazines.

"She won't believe it."

I had to give him that. She wouldn't. And if she did, she'd probably tell me I deserved it.

"You're becoming a real smartass." I commented, dropping the _National Geographic_ and picking up the magazine Kate seemed to be spending most of her time working on.

"Your influence."

I ignored him and flipped through the magazine while he paid for his.

Right in the middle was a brightly colored full-page glossy picture that grabbed my attention. I didn't even notice the bold white lettering of the title at the top.

With a perfectly clear blue sky as a backdrop a beautiful woman laughed at the camera as she bent to gather up a rainbow-colored parachute.

"Son of a bitch."

"What?" Jerry looked over my shoulder. "Hey! That's Kate!"

I threw the magazine down.

"We have to go kill somebody."


	28. CH 28 Band On The Run

Sorry - a choppy chapter

* * *

This whole thing with Julia and Grace had me revisiting my past and questioning previous decisions in ways nothing else ever had.

I'd run away. I hadn't stood up for myself.

And yet here I was expecting them to.

Pushing them to learn a lesson probably before they were ready.

Pushing them because I hadn't pushed myself. And I knew better than anybody that you have to get over these things in your own time.

But there _was_ an urgency there. To stop this predator before he hurt more women.

He was out there looking for his next victim.

But they weren't just _his _victims, they were victims of their own horrible choices in the first place. And those choices put them right in his path.

And it made me angry all over again how much time I had wasted on Evan. Time I'd just handed over as though it were nothing.

I'd made plenty of my _o__wn_ poor choices.

I had to remind myself that every decision I'd made because of what Evan had done had led me _here_.

To him.

A couple of months ago that had been enough.

I wasn't sure if it was Susanne, or something else, but all of a sudden work and home life weren't enough. Unfinished business? Issues from my past I hadn't dealt with? Restlessness? Something else?

I wasn't sure.

About anything.

So I certainly wasn't surprised when I found myself, one day, gazing up at the window of my old apartment – the one I'd have to leave so abruptly.

The one I'd left so easily.

In a neighborhood I hadn't visited since.

Things looked a lot seedier. The blinds I'd actually installed myself were askew, yellowed and broken, gaping in some places.

Like the yellowed, broken teeth in the dentist's office. I'd been there the other day getting Boo's teeth cleaned. There had been a poster on the wall identifying different types of decay and gum disease and the similarity was somehow disturbing right now.

I thought about how easy it had been to walk away and embrace the freedom of a new life, while right now I felt all _'Bell Jar' _Plath-y when she mentions feeling like a kitchen mat flattened out under her husband's feet.

Boo, Miss Independent, hadn't wanted me to be in the room while she'd had her cleaning, so I'd flipped through competitors' magazines in the tiny waiting area sitting in one of only five chairs. 'Band on the Run' was playing over the sound system.

On the _Run_.

By Paul McCartney and _Wings_.

Symbolic of that freedom I no longer had.

Not only did I hate that song to begin with, the comparison of captivity and freedom had been suffocating: 'Jailer Man' and 'Sailor Sam'.

And "If I ever get out of here."

Suddenly the room had seemed too small.

I stared at those defective blinds wondering who lived there, what they were like, why they'd allow them to stay that way.

And all those broken yellow blinds did was remind me just how trapped I felt.

My phone buzzed and I checked it.

Sully.

Third call today.

I hit 'ignore'.

I'd take care of that later.

He'd given me time to get over things, and I guess I had for the most part.

But I was still a little upset that he'd betrayed my confidences to my husband, and when you put it like that, yes, it sounds more than a little absurd.

I'd have to make sure to reconcile, and quickly. I certainly didn't want to cause any issues between him and Rose…

I surveyed the neighborhood. The boarded up building across the street that was still boarded up. The same gathering of teens (although they were all different teens) on the corner, next block over.

And, in the other direction, the bright welcoming lights of Sal's.

That made me smile.

Sal, still going strong.

I stuffed my hands in my pockets and hiked the half-block to his store, pushing the door open roughly, as I'd used to, shouting, "Hey, Sal!"

Same old Sal, only a little more gray.

His jaw dropped.

"Jenny!"

And for the second time in a month, I was embarrassed to have to tell someone that my name was actually 'Kate'. And why.

"It suits you better." He stated. And I moved around the store as I'd used to, gathering a few things.

All the old things: Snapple, Pringles, a pre-made sandwich.

I wasn't really that hungry.

I was making purchases out of guilt: my first thought that night had been for Sal's safety and I'd never followed up on it. Never even asked Maurice to.

"So what have you been up to?" he called out to me.

"Oh," I said, trying to remember whether or not we were out of orange juice, "Got married, had a couple of kids. Still writing." I grabbed a half gallon, regardless.

"Well, that's great!"

I brought my purchases over to the counter and we looked at each other for a second, and then, as if we'd read each others' minds, we both glanced at the door, remembering the last time I'd been right there in that spot.

"You know," he said, in a low voice, "Those two guys who came in here and chased you were found on the next street over with their throats cut a couple of nights later. It was brutal, from what I hear."

The words of the FBI agent came back to me: Evan. Twelve-inch knife.

He had mentioned they were dead, but it had never occurred to me that he'd done it himself, although he had certainly implied it, now that I thought about it.

I'd thought he'd been completely without a single brain cell, but apparently he'd been lucid enough not to confess to a double murder in front of a cop.

And the fact that he'd had that presence of mind told me he'd merely done what he'd had to do and said what he'd had to say to get himself out of there because Maurice had a weapon and had somehow gotten to the roof in time.

If he hadn't the night would have ended in a completely different way.

It almost had anyway.

Evan. I'd thought I'd managed him but he'd actually managed me.

Again.

If he'd wanted revenge more than life he could have just tossed me over the edge of that building in an instant.

"You okay?" Sal asked.

"I'm…" I paused, and took a deep breath, "_fine_."

"So, did you marry that guy from work you were telling me about – the one who was always after you? What was his name…Andrew?"

"No!" I exclaimed. "As a matter of fact - and it's a funny story – your 911 call not only saved my life, it changed it completely. I married the cop who took me down in an alley back there," I gestured, "because he thought I was one of the bad guys."

"How could anyone mistake _you _for a bad guy?" Sal scoffed.

I explained how I'd disguised myself, and had been running.

"I've seen you run. If he caught you, he deserves to keep you."

"I'll be sure to tell him that." I laughed.

He totaled up my purchases and when I handed him my debit card I thought he was going to fall over.

"Can it _be_?" he asked dramatically, squinting at the card as though it might not be real.

"It even has my name on it."

When he handed me the card and receipt I grasped his hand.

"I'm sorry I didn't let you know I was okay. That I didn't check on you."

"Just stay in touch now." His eyes were gentle.

"I will." I promised.

"I've always wondered what happened to you."

Lately, I'd been wondering the same thing.

* * *

I jabbed at the elevator button in Kate's twenty-story office building.

It was taking its time. You would think with four elevators one of them would be _somewhere_ near the ground floor.

I smacked Jerry with the back of my hand. "We're taking the stairs. _Now_."

"Are you sure this is a good idea? Maybe a phone call would be better...or a telegram... "

"What, you don't like conflict?" I asked and indicated the stairs. "We're about to find out how well-conditioned you are, Junior." And I sprinted up the stairs. He followed.

After two flights, he'd kept up pretty well. "What floor is she on?' he huffed.

"Seven." I said, and he groaned.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" he asked again. "I don't want you having a heart attack, old man."

"You're just not that lucky."

By the time we reached the landing on the seventh floor _I_ thought taking the stairs had been pretty dumb. I stopped for about thirty seconds to catch my breath, but I didn't really care if I did. I wasn't sure I'd even need to be using words with Brian at this point.

The fire-doors were propped open on every landing, so I couldn't slam the door open and make an entrance, but we still got a lot of attention striding through, shoulder to shoulder, to Brian's office.

As we passed, I'd noticed that Kate's desk was eerily barren, but still clearly hers.

As usual, he was sitting in the dark with the door open.

Startled, he jumped up defensively when he saw both of us.

He looked from me to Jerry and back again. "What? What! Is Kate all right?" That made me wonder what other 'adventurous' assignment he had her on right now.

"Kate's fine." I said. "You're not."

And that's when Jerry stepped in front of me, just to the side, silent and staring. Arms crossed.

Telling Brian that not only was Jerry on my side of things, he was protecting me from myself rather than protecting Brian from me.

How much did I like this guy right now.

"Don't touch him unless you want desk duty until your _trial_." Jerry muttered to me.

"Thanks for the warning."

"What's this about?" Brian asked, alarmed. He couldn't decide whether to keep his eyes on Jerry, who matched him in size, or on me, because he knew I was the one with the issue.

He had the magazine on the corner of his desk. I threw it at him. "This."

He opened it to the proper page. "What? It's a great picture and a fantastic article. She's amazing." He didn't seem to understand how I could possibly be offended by it.

"I told her '_no_'."

He paled.

"She told _you_ I told her no. And yet, here this is."

His hands trembled a little and I reached across the desk and snatched the magazine back, still half-blocked by Jerry, who apparently had somehow mastered a menacing glare.

"I swear to God she _never _told me you told her 'no'."

"Well, either you're lying to me or my wife is." And the minute I said it, I could see the truth in his face, and the fact that he was about to open his mouth to lie in order to take whatever was coming so that she wouldn't have to.

Noble as it was, it disgusted me. And it drained all my hostility. He was pathetic.

Before he could speak, I tightly rolled up the magazine. "I'm going to take this. I'm going to need it." I looked at Jerry. Swatted him with it. "We're through here. Let's go."

We rattled back down the stairs, Jerry following me, throwing questions at me the entire way:

"What does this mean?"

"She lied to you?"

"What are you going to do?"

"You're not going to take this out on_ her, _are you?"

Finally I answered. "You're damned right I'm going to take this out on her! We talked about this and she deliberately defied me."

"You're not going to _hurt_ her, are you?"

I stopped short on the stairs, and he nearly ran into me, then stepped back up. I looked up at him from two steps further down. He towered over me.

"I can't believe you just said that, Prince Charming."

And it made me ache that he actually thought of me the same way everyone else seemed to. Even after all this time.

I turned and went back down the stairs, not caring whether he kept up with me or not.

* * *

When I came in the door that night, Kate emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

"Here." I said. "Catch." And I tossed the magazine at her. I'd had time to calm down and give a little thought to how I wanted to do this. I still wasn't certain, but I knew losing my temper was never productive with her.

She caught it, glanced at it, then looked at me, expressionless.

"_Well_?" I demanded.

She shrugged. "You told me I couldn't do something that I wanted to do."

"So you endangered yourself and you lied to me."

"If you remember correctly, I didn't _lie_ to you. I told you I'd tell Brian 'something', I just didn't say what that something would be."

"So you had every intention from the start and you played a game with words." I swiped my hand across my mouth. "_F__eels _the same as a lie!"

"I need to do something more than wipe grape jelly handprints off the fridge!"

"Brian said he never knew I'd said no."

"I never told him." She said bluntly.

"Deliberately."

"Yup."

Now I was really glad Jerry had been there. I'd wanted to take Brian to pieces but he'd apparently been as in the dark as I had been.

"So when did you add 'deception' to your resume?"

"About the same time you added 'unsupportive husband' to yours!" She countered.

"That's unfair, and you know it. Everything I've done has been to try to help you!"

"Yeah, that's great, I'm a charity case."

"You jumped out of an _airplane_!" I exclaimed. "You know, if you had told me that was something you _really_ wanted to do, I probably would have been there for you! But you didn't even give me that chance. You went behind my back!"

"I'm sorry." She said, sounding nothing like it. "I need to do what I need to do – same as you." She went back into the kitchen and tossed the towel on the counter.

"G'night." She shouldered past me roughly, dismissing me, and that pissed me off, so I grabbed her a little harder than I should have and turned her around and held her by the arms, just to get her attention, to get her to listen to what I was trying to say, to hear me ...and regretted it the instant I did it.

She gazed at me calmly, lips parted a bit, tongue on her teeth, cold eyes saying "So this is how you really are," and I took my hands off her and stepped back.

She stayed right where she was for a couple of seconds, said "I'm going back to work and there's nothing you can do about it.", and went to the bedroom. The soft click of the door spoke louder than a slam.

As though she thought it wasn't even worth the effort.


	29. CH29 Patience

I stared at the closed door for a minute.

No.

No, no and no.

I was not about to let her do this again.

Not about this.

I went in, being careful to shut the door behind me as softly as she had. If I stayed calm, she'd stay calm and maybe we could resolve this tonight and be done with it.

While my eyes adjusted I could hear her toss in the bed with an annoyed sigh. I assumed it was because of the fact that she was about to have to deal with me.

I sat on my side of the bed against the headboard, knees up, and looked over at her. I could see better now, and the lights from outside made it seem a lot less dark. Kate was on her back staring at the ceiling with a look of bored tolerance, fingers laced together across her abdomen.

"We can do this the easy way or the hard way." I stated, making it clear that there were no other options.

Silence for a moment. She lay still, and finally asked, "What's the easy way?"

"We talk about it, and then-" I leaned in and kissed her neck.

Her hands fluttered at me impatiently. "What's the hard way?"

I shrugged. "We just talk about it."

She groaned and wrapped her pillow around her head.

Her "Talk, talk, talk!" was muffled. She abruptly sat up and dropped the pillow into her lap. "All anyone wants me to do is 'talk'! Has it ever occurred to any of you that maybe I don't _want_ to talk?"

"You've made that pretty plain to _all_ of us over the last couple of months."

She crossed her arms and turned to look at me, half her face visible in the light, the other half obscured, which made it hard to read her expression, but it looked pretty grim.

"So?" I waited.

She gave a biting laugh. "When have you ever known me to take the easy way out?"

I tried a humorous tone, thinking that might disarm her. "You've been adventurous lately, so I thought maybe you'd like to give it a try, just this one time."

But she shook her head and stayed serious. "I don't think so," she said, thoughtfully. "Say what you need to say."

As though I was the one out of line here.

"Why did you do this?" I asked reasonably.

"I thought it was a good idea and it was something I really wanted to try."

"Then why didn't you just come to me and explain that?"

"What are you Don Corleone? All of a sudden I need your blessing on everything I do?" Ah, she introduced the sarcasm. And she used a Bronx accent for effect. Which was kind of funny, but I could tell she was trying to make a point and even a smile would probably set her off.

"Not everything, Kate. Just things that involve you and this family and those kids. And your safety. You think I want to be the guy who has to say 'Mommy's not coming home'? You can't go and do things just because you feel like it." I kept my tone even. I was doing pretty well so far, I thought.

Until she exploded with a torrent of words the likes of which I hadn't heard since she rattled off her dinner dissertation the night Mom had come over. Only this one was angry.

"Really? _Really_? You _hypocrite_! I'm in a similar position every day of my life! Watching two people get killed right in front of me made me realize that any given day could be the end of _you_. Made it really _real_. I think about it every second of every day! You're constantly deliberately putting yourself in harm's way, and _seriously_, how many people actually die jumping from an airplane every year compared to how many police officers are killed? Do you _really _want to compare _statistics_ on this? Or the _odds_? For God's sake, what you're upset about is _nothing_ compared to the fact that I can't even count on you having a safe trip to the hardware store because who the hell knows what you might run into on the way! I just read an article about an off-duty cop and his wife sitting on their porch one evening and he saw these two guys beating up another guy and he went over to stop it and all three turned on _him_!"

So much for a calm, rational discussion.

"What would make it better for _you_, Kate? You want me to quit? I _could_ do that. And we could move to one of those really _nice_ one-room apartments and you could go off to work every day while I fight a losing battle against roaches and somehow manage to keep lice out of the kids' hair. Drunks' puke in the stairwells, pot smoke from downstairs coming up through the air vents, maybe a meth lab in the basement..."

"Right. And the second you realized that you couldn't arrest the entire building you'd _implode_." She shook her head. "You know I would never demand that you stop doing something that you need to do." She paused. "But that's what you're doing to me."

"Oh. This is a _need_? You _need_ to do this?"

She stared at me silently for a moment then said softly, "Yeah."

Okay. Maybe we were actually getting somewhere. "Well...tell me why. Talk to me."

She got out of bed and went for the door. "Oh, sure. Captain Adrenaline wants me to explain why skydiving might have been something I wanted to try. I don't want to talk about this any more. I shouldn't have to explain anything to you."

"You have a hell of a _lot_ to explain to me! I went to your office today ready to take a guy apart all because you wouldn't talk to me, you wouldn't talk to _anybody_! Not even him!"

Kate turned back, alarmed."You _what_? I thought you only called him on your cell!"

"I don't take the easy way out either, sweetheart."

"What did you do to him?" And, for the second time that day, there was the insinuation that violence would be my first instinct. She was standing very still, making me wonder if she was more concerned about _his_ possible injuries or _my_ possible consequences.

"Nothing." I said. "I took a magazine home and tossed it at you."

For a second she looked as though she wanted to ask me something else, maybe address how I'd grabbed her, but then she just finally said, hand on the doorknob, "You know, I'm pretty sure your so-called 'adrenaline' is just re-directed anger."

And she whisked open the door and was gone.

"You have anger, too!" I called after her.

* * *

After a couple of minutes I sighed and got up, knowing I had to follow her out to the kitchen. I was tired of the undercurrents of anger and frustration; I just wanted this taken care of tonight.

She'd poured a short glass of Stoli on the rocks and was complaining to herself that she had to use a slice of lime because she'd used the last lemon for the caesar salad two nights before.

"You shouldn't talk to yourself." I said.

"I shouldn't talk to _you_. It would keep my stress level down." She said without a trace of hostility, pinching the lime and dropping it in the glass.

"Look," I said, trying to be careful, "this isn't the first time we've had a 'discussion' and you've come out here and gotten a drink. Is this something I should be worried about?"

"Well, _I'm_ worried that you can't call an argument an _argument_. As for the drink, I'm having _one_, not the whole bottle."

"I just want to make sure..." I trailed off.

She turned to face me. "You can be sure. It's just _one_. And then I'm going to bed. So I can actually _sleep_."

"Okay. A couple of minutes and you're coming to bed?"

"Just want to check my e-mail. Make sure I'm not fired after what you did today."

"Look-" I began.

"I'm kidding." She gave me a little smile, and there was humor in her voice. "Don't worry. It's just...you make him nervous." And just like that, she'd turned her mood around.

"Nervous?"

"Okay, he's a little afraid of you."

Good.

"I do owe him an apology." she acknowledged.

She owed _him_ an apology? "What about me?"

"You probably owe him one, too. I can take care of that for you."

"No, I meant-"

She set her drink on the counter and put her hands on my shoulders. "I know exactly what you meant. I'm sorry I didn't 'talk to you' about it before I did it. I was just so sure you'd say no again. And I really needed to do this. I promise: any future plans Brian and I discuss, I will absolutely consult with you." She was silent for a moment, took her hands off me and picked up her drink again, adding, "Brian _did _say that based on the success of that 9/11 column, I could probably do something similar for Fleet Week next May. The military life, the sacrifice...tugging at the readers' heart-strings..."

"_Fleet Week_?" I snorted. "He's thinking you ought to spend a week with hundreds of twenty-something sailors? No way in hell."

"Funny. It sounded rather appealing to me." She took a slug of vodka and looked at me, eyes wide and mock-innocent over the rim of her glass. "What **_do_ **you do with a drunken sailor? Or ten."

She was having fun with me. He'd never suggested any such thing.

"I'm pretty sure even a sober sailor would let you do whatever you want. Couple of minutes, then?" I asked.

She nodded, and I gave her a quick kiss and went to bed, marvelling at how quickly things had turned around. Although, medication notwithstanding, she'd been so mercurial lately I really couldn't be too surprised.

She came back in literally two minutes later and burrowed in beside me.

"No e-mail."

"Good." No complications.

"So." She said. "Let's say _you're_ the drunken sailor..."

I knew that even though her apology had been sincere, she'd made her promise quickly in order to avoid any further discussion of the issue.

I hoped _this_ wasn't more deflection. I hoped that it was Kate conceding that the 'easy way' was more appealing.

She kissed me in that soft spot just under my jaw and I decided I didn't really care either way...

It wasn't until much, much later that I realized she'd used the words 'future plans' to placate me, to distract me from any _present_ plans she'd already made. Same with her joke about Fleet Week: she was being a magician, calling attention to something unimportant or unreal to keep my focus away from what was actually happening.

* * *

He was right to be concerned. I was drinking all the time now.

And by 'all the time', I don't mean 'constantly'.

I mean any time of the day: in the afternoon when the kids were napping, watching tv after dinner, at 2 a.m. when I couldn't sleep, at 6 a.m. when I couldn't wake up...and every now and then when I just needed to get a grip.

Don't get me wrong, I wasn't intoxicating myself. I'd just have one to get me back to sleep or to get me going. In fact, I made _damn _sure it was only one at any given time, no matter where, no matter when, social situation or not, because I wouldn't allow myself to be impaired around my kids.

Just enough to level things off. Smooth things out. Make things go a little easier. I knew I was playing with fire and that I had to be careful, but I also knew it was only until everything started to settle, even out, get back to normal. Until I could resume life as it used to be.

I really, truly thought that would actually happen in time. It never occurred to me that things had changed, been broken, and they might just stay that way.

Eventually, I had to return Sully's calls.

We had a pretty decent, although tepid, conversation.

He apologized, I apologized, all was forgiven.

But not forgotten.

I still wasn't about to confide in him again. I realized I probably never should have - he and Maurice shared a history and a bond in spite of their tempermental yet relatively mild animosity.

It made me realize that the important, prevalent people in my life were actually all _his_.

The only person I had in my life that wasn't there because of him was Brian. And he and Maurice seemed to have this tag-team thing going designed to make me as miserable as possible.

And now that he knew I hadn't informed him of Maurice's edict, I figured he'd probably stick me behind a desk and punish me with assignments for articles comparing shoes or handbags, or worse: reporting celebrity gossip.

Sully had asked me how things were going with Maurice, and it didn't occur to me until later that he was actually asking if I had any more bruises.

I thought he just literally meant 'how are things', so I lied, which was starting to become a habit as well.

I'd lied to Maurice for the very first time. Not the misguiding use of understatement, not carefully chosen wording that he could figure out if he paid close enough attention...an actual _lie_.

That story about the cabbies was manufactured because I knew he'd never let me go hang on a street corner interviewing prostitutes, regardless of my intentions.

Julia was still stonewalling me, and didn't seem to have any intention of changing her lifestyle.

But I'd been back to see Gracie, as I was now calling her, a couple of times and she seemed receptive to my offers of helping her put that life behind her.

I still couldn't get either of them to tell me anything about their attacker.

Even if Julia was too afraid and too entrenched in the lifestyle to tell me anything, she could certainly unwittingly help me get to the bottom of things. I could ask her to help me under the pretense of an article that would be a 'human interest' story: who they are, how they got there, why they stay... And I could find a way to figure out who they guy was, then I could inform Maurice and he could take things from there, and it would all work out and the guy would get the justice he deserved...it seemed like the perfect plan.

Didn't it, though?


	30. Ch30 The Stranger

I'd been occupied with other things when Julia had signed herself out of the shelter for good.

Mainly one thing I hadn't informed Maurice about, which he was probably going to find out about eventually.

Brian's idea of a ride-along with him and Jerry surely wasn't going to happen, so I had flirted my way into one at the 78 through an acquaintence. A 'source', actually.

It was as eventful as my journalistic self had hoped it would be, but it also stunned me with the reality of what Maurice faced every day. It was even worse than I'd imagined.

I hadn't dragged a photographer along on this assignment, but Brian had made sure there had been one there at the end of the day. The guy took a photo of me, arms looped around my two new friends' necks, trying for a nice smile, but probably looking a little dazed after what I'd experienced.

Maurice hadn't been exaggerating about the one-room apartment.

What he'd left out were the paper-thin walls, the children crying and screaming from abuse or hunger, the yelling and slamming doors, the sound of bodies hitting the floor, whether it was from drugs, drink or a fight...

I saw things I had known existed, but had never actually seen.

It had been awful, the sounds seemed like they were coming from all sides, I couldn't pinpoint any of them, couldn't distinguish one from another, couldn't separate them, they all blended in one great symphony of anguish, and it made my head spin and I actually had to run downstairs and outside in order to breathe, hands on my knees, bent at the waist, gasping for breath, wiping away perspiration I hadn't even noticed was there.

One of the guys followed me out to make sure I was okay, and I assured him I was, and that I'd wait outside and he nodded and went back in, warning me to be aware of my surroundings.

My 'surroundings'.

They included a slumped figure tucked into the doorway of the closed and locked corner store. Three or four men milling together down the street, the one sitting on the stairs glaring in my direction, which made me straighten, because I was not about to be the 'gazelle'. I glared back until he shrugged and looked away. The teenagers sitting on the steps across the street getting high when they should have been in school. And a lone prostitute swaggering her way up the street.

She mesmerized me.

All I'd ever known about prostitutes was from the tv or the movies. But this was raw, this was real. I wanted to go over to her and grab her, shake some sense into her. At the corner, she leaned into the passenger window of a brown El Camino that had pulled to the curb, then got in.

There was nothing I could do.

For her.

Gracie was another story.

I had to find Julia.

And I had to find this guy.

* * *

I knew where Julia worked, so one afternoon when Maurice was gone, I had Rose watch the kids so I could go talk to her. I never got there.

It wasn't worth it to try to drive where I needed to go, plus I didn't want the hassle or the identification, so I just decided to wave down a cab in front of the building. A couple passed me by, but one that had been idling at the curb a little way up the street pulled out and stopped for me.

"Whew, thanks." I said, sliding into the back and tossing my bag down next to me. It was a brisk night.

"Where to?"

I told him.

"Why would you want to go there?" He asked, almost to himself, so I ignored him.

His eyes met mine in the rear view mirror, then he looked back at the road and we started moving.

I flipped through my calendar, then my notebook, checked e-mail messages on my Blackberry, and I swear every time I glanced up, he was gazing at me in the mirror.

"You might want to," I suggested reasonably, "keep your eyes on the _road_."

"I was just thinking," he began slowly, then finished with words that made my heart nearly stop, "how _nice_ it is to _finally_ meet my daughter-in-law. I can't _wait_ to meet the grandkids." The words themselves weren't so bad; it was the menacing implication in his tone. If we hadn't been moving I'd have ejected myself from the cab in an instant. I almost did anyway.

I was suddenly cold. Freezing cold.

But I knew showing fear would be the worst thing I could do.

"Hey!" I said brightly. "Monster-in-law! It's nice to put a name to a face. Now I know who to watch out for! What were you just hangin' near the building waiting for the opportunity? Sounds a little bit 'stalk'y to me. Do the words 'restraining order' mean anything to you? You'd be surprised how fast I could make that happen." It was a nervous desperate babbling.

He waved me off. "Piece of paper. Meant to be ignored."

The implication of that took care of the nerves.

I took a deep, shuddery breath and gave him my 'steely eyes'.

"A loaded .38 might change your mind. And a sobbing, shaky cop's wife who claims self-defense and can give a list of five or six times she'd been confronted by you but didn't tell her husband because she was afraid he'd go after you and get himself in trouble. Remember the first time? At the Fig Tree Fruit Market on the corner of Myrtle and Walworth? You told me if I didn't let you see your grandkids you'd make it happen whether I liked it or not." I sat back and crossed my arms. "I'm a writer. I can come up with a _dozen _stories like that. None of them confirmable, but are they really going to investigate too deeply? A dead guy with a history and a cop's wife with two people who know you _very _well to back her up..."

He glared at me in the mirror.

"Eyes on the _road_." I snarled, wondering how much longer I could keep this up without going to pieces. I definitely understood the effect he'd had on Rose and a young, impressionable Maurice. His entire demeanor was an insinuation of your inferiority.

Hostile.

Looking for a reason for violence.

Tense, waiting for it, with a malicious smile.

My parents had been no picnic, but I couldn't even imagine having had to deal with _this_ guy.

"You're just like him." He said.

"Thanks." I replied. "_You're_ a waste of oxygen." I said. "Pull over and let me out."

"This is one of the worst parts of the city."

"I'm pretty sure _you're_ one of the worst parts of the city. God, he was right about you."

He pulled the cab to the curb. "Wait." He said and got out and came around and opened the door for me. "There you go, princess." He gave a half-bow.

I emerged from the cab, trying not to exhale too loudly and give away my sense of relief. I spotted a brightly lit coffee shop three doors down. That would be my refuge.

"I'm not one for long goodbyes." I said. He was an imposing figure who implied aggression, and he made sure he was right up close using his stature to intimidate, and he made me want to step back off the curb, away from him. But I couldn't. I knew he was only waiting for a sign of weakness.

I opened my purse, riffled through it, pulled out a twenty and stuffed it in his shirt pocket.

"Thanks for the ride, Pops."

"How'd my pipsqueak, boy scout kid end up with a gal like you?"

"Don't you talk about your son. You're dead to him." I paused for effect. "But you're a little _too_ alive to suit _me_. Keep that in mind. What he chose not to do, I just might. Watch yourself."

I turned and walked toward the coffee shop, expecting an assault every step of the way.

But he just laughed. "Make sure you tell him you saw me."

That made it clear what he was trying to do. He wanted force a confrontation, because that was the only way he could insinuate himself back into Maurice's life and manipulate him again. And I sure as hell wasn't going to let that happen.

I had my weapon in my bag and I could have taken care of things right then and there. The only thing stopping me was Maurice. It was something that still gnawed at him, and I couldn't be the one to 'resolve' things. He had to make his peace with the situation, in whatever way he chose, as much as I'd have _loved_ to take care of it for him.

I pulled the heavy glass door open and stepped inside the coffee shop, giving a shaky sigh of relief.

My cell rang.

With trembling hands, I answered it.

"Everything okay?" It was Maurice.

"What do you have _radar_?" I asked, barely breathing, and then everything closed in on me, it was as if everything that had happened over the past couple of months had converged on that pin-point moment. I got tunnel vision, dropped the phone….and then nothing.

When I awoke, I was lying on the coffee shop floor with someone's jacket folded under my head. Several concerned employees and customers were hovering over me. I sat up just in time to see Maurice and Jerry burst through the door and hear Jerry ask Maurice if they needed to call for a bus.

"No!" I called out . "I'm fine."

Maurice came over and crouched beside me. "What are you doing _here_?"

"I just made him pull over and let me off. I didn't care where."

I struggled to stand up. Maurice helped me.

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing. Bad cab ride." I shook my head.

"You are so damned stubborn. Would you just tell me what the problem was?"

I shook my head. To save him. From what he'd do. If he knew.

"Why are you here?" I asked.

He gave me a 'duh' look. "Because you passed out when you were on the phone with me and," he nodded at the patrons, "these fine citizens were able to give me your location."

I looked at the tiny room and the concerned people and said "Thank you," only because I didn't know what else to do.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?"

I shook my head. "I just had a bad experience. I'm okay."

He grabbed my upper arm to get my attention and said in a very low but firm tone, "You're going to tell me what this was all about. Not here. Not now. But tonight."

But all I could think was: if I couldn't handle 'Dad', how was I going to handle being face to face with a rapist?


	31. Chapter 31 With No Title!

Kate allowed us to drive her home, but she wouldn't allow me to stay with her. She told me to 'go finish up' and she'd be fine.

I was okay with it because I only had about an hour left and she looked like she wanted some time alone to get herself together.

She seemed all right, and knowing how emotional she'd been lately, I figured maybe she just needed a good cry to get it all out of her system and didn't want me around to see it.

I'd get my answers later.

But, frustratingly, all she would tell me when I got home was, "He was intimidating."

She'd showered, scrubbing the night off of her, and looked adorable with her clean shiny face and the sloppy half-dried hair she'd merely run her hands through.

"So intimidating he made you pass out?" I asked skeptically. "What exactly did he do?"

"He was –" she stopped and shook her head. "It was _everything..._together. It's over. Can't we just forget it?"

"No. I want to know exactly what happened. What he did. And why you didn't call me the second he made you feel uncomfortable."

"I didn't want you involved."

I was incredulous.

Near speechless, in fact.

"How could you not want me involved? You said you felt threatened! Did he touch you?"

Kate sagged exhaustedly and dropped to the sofa. When she spoke I could barely hear her and I almost thought I heard her wrong.

"No." she said and sighed deeply. "It was your father. I didn't want you involved because you being involved is exactly what he _wanted_."

I processed that for a minute and she wouldn't look at me directly but kept darting glances at me anxiously, hunched, hands clenched, dark half-circles under her eyes... she reminded me of an abandoned, defenseless bird.

"I'm involved." I grabbed my coat and went for the door.

I couldn't believe how quickly she moved to block my exit.

"You can't. Please." She put her hands on me to stop me.

"I don't want you to have to worry about him anymore."

"I'm not worried about him. I'm worried about you."

"You don't need to be. _Especially_ not now."

I shrugged on my coat and very carefully and very gently moved her from in front of the door. She clenched my arms.

"Please don't" she pleaded earnestly. "It's what he wants."

"Then I'm sure he'll be extremely satisfied with what he gets."

"Don't."

"He threatened you? He threatened my family?"

She shook her head. "It wasn't his words, it was his tone."

"Did he or didn't he?"

"I said I _felt_ threatened, not that he actually-"

"The implication is the threat with him." I said and opened the door. She grabbed desperately at me as I stepped into the hallway.

"Maurice, please –"

I turned on her.

"You're acting like my _mother_! Who are you concerned about protecting here? Him? Or your family? " She let go of me and stepped back, stunned.

"I-" she began.

"I _told_ you what he is! You saw it for yourself! He crossed the line and you want me to _ignore_ this? I know how to handle my father." I shook my head grimly and turned away from her.

"While you're at it come up with a damn good story why you were anywhere near that part of town, because we're definitely going to talk about _that_ when I get home!" I added on my way down the hall.

She shut the door with a soft click. I heard the snick of the bolt but had to pretend I didn't hear her crying.

* * *

The sky was just starting to get light when I finally got home.

Morning was going to hurt.

I was ready to just drop and snore, but I got into bed carefully so I wouldn't wake Kate.

That wasn't an issue.

"I meant to tell you before you left." She said. "A couple of blocks over they've excavated and they're just about ready to pour concrete. It would have been perfect. Where'd you dump him?"

Humor. Not what I expected.

But it was a relief, even though it had been clear the medication wasn't regulating her moods the way it ought to.

"I stuffed him under Sully's cabin."

She laughed and ran her hands over me and for a minute I felt like everything was the way it ought to be.

But it wasn't.

"Cancer." I said.

She looked at me, eyes wide, sucking in her breath.

"All through him."

"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry." She buried her face in my chest and hugged me fiercely.

"I don't know if _I_ am."

She was silent.

"According to him, it won't be long." I added. "He tried to guilt me into letting him see the kids."

"Maybe we should-"

"No." I interrupted. ""I don't have any confirmation that it's a fact."

"But-"

"No."

We lay there in silence for a little while.

"He cried to me and apologized and told me he's a changed man."

"Oh." Kate said. "_That's_ not the man I met this evening. He really scared me."

"He might be telling the truth about the cancer, but nothing's changed, and I am not letting him around my kids. No matter what."

"Okay." she agreed.

"_Are_ you? Okay?" I looked at her. "I didn't mean what I said. I know you were thinking of me, not him."

"I know."

"I was just so...I couldn't believe he had the nerve to get anywhere near you. I made it clear..."

"Does your mother know?"

I turned on my side, reached across her waist and snugged her right up next to me.

"He hasn't told her yet, but I let him know I'd damn well better be there when he does."

Kate sighed. "When did life get so complicated? When did it just start hammering us day after day with one thing after another after another after another? It's non-stop! I think that's what made me hit the ground tonight - your father was just the last straw in a long line of hellish events."

"You won't see him again. Ever. I promise." I brushed back her bangs and kissed her forehead. "So, now you want to tell me where you were going?"

"Oh, I wanted to check in on Julia. She left the shelter the other day and I missed her before she went. I wanted to give it one last shot - try to convince her to quit. Let me help her."

"Why a cab?"

"I knew where I was going, what it would be like - I thought it would be safer to have another person with me. And he could wait for me."

I was satisfied with her answer. At least she was thinking of her own safety this time.

I lay on my back and exhaled deeply, the arm under and around Kate starting to tingle. Her fingertips were doing a little dance on my upper arm.

"We can sleep late tomorrow. The kids are at your Mom's."

"Is that a statement or a suggestion?"

"Take it either way."

"I'm tired. It was a _hell_ of a night."

"Okay, take it the _other _way, then."

I looked over at her to see if she was serious.

"I need you." She said simply.

"Okay."

"Because it _was_ a hell of a night ."

* * *

I awoke to the sound of Kate working with the coffee maker and singing.

I hadn't noticed exactly when she'd _stopped_ singing, but I'd just realized one day that she had. And I hadn't realized until now how much I'd missed it.

But again, it gave me the feeling that everything was as it ought to be, even when it wasn't.

The clock read just after ten.

I wanted to get up, but I really couldn't so I just ground myself back under the covers and into the pillow until Kate came in and delicately tucked herself back in beside me. She scooted right up behind me and draped her arm over me, pressing her lips against my right shoulder, then dropping her head back onto her pillow and exhaling a sigh that told me she wanted to go right back to sleep, too.

"Coffee's gonna be burnt. You hate that." I mumbled.

"I'll make another." She drowsed.

And we slept, peacefully rather than fitfully for the first time in a long time.

* * *

"How can you read in a moving vehicle?" I asked Jerry. He had a magazine folded over on itself and was intent on an article. "What _is_ that?"

"Your wife's work is riveting. I don't mind the nausea." I glanced over at him. He was serious.

And that made me feel guilty. I hadn't really read much more than a couple of things Kate had written over the past few years.

When she'd been transplanted in Boston, I'd had Mom help me find everything available that she'd written when she'd lived in Chicago, and everything I could find under her New York alias. I'd known there was more out there; she'd told me she used pen names like crazy, but I had been able to read enough of what I knew was her work to get a good solid grip on her writing style.

I'd known she wouldn't give up writing, so I'd read articles from every source I could, trying to match and identify her style, hoping I could find her new name, her new location.

I'd developed an embarrassing knowledge of women's shoes, feng shui and cookware. Not to mention political commentary. Theater reviews. Advice columns. All sorts of sports. Women's magazines. I hadn't known which rock she'd be able to hide under, so I'd tried to overturn them all.

I'd found a couple of articles that sounded like her, one by a writer in Baltimore, one from a small town in Mississippi. Nothing had panned out. I'd been so convinced she was in Baltimore I actually made a trip down there and been disappointed by a petite raven-haired twenty-two year old spitfire just out of college who had no idea who Kate was, or what she'd written.

"Just so you know, I read it for the articles, not the pictures." Jerry broke in. His attempt at humor.

Pictures?

"There are pictures? Of Kate?"

"Yeah. Why'd you let her do this with someone else? It should have been us."

"What the _hell _does that _mean_?"

"Maybe she didn't want to do this with you. Didn't want to write this honestly about you. Or me."

"_What_ are you talking about?"

"The ride-along she did with these guys from the 78. Her insight is amazing. She gets it. She gets _us_. I mean, seriously, most of the press we get is relatively negative. In fact, this has to be the most -"

All I heard was the first sentence. "The _what_ she did with _who?"_

He glanced over at me. "Seven eight. She didn't tell you-?"

"What time is it." I asked flatly.

"Are you saying she just went and did this-"

"What _time_ is it!"

"Eight. Eight nineteen."

I swung the car around right in the middle of traffic, resulting in quite a few blaring car horns.

Idiots.

Lights, siren and speed fixed that.

"I ate the wrong thing." I instructed Jerry. "I've puked five times in the last two hours. Tried to stick it out but couldn't. Got me?"

He nodded, looking back down at the magazine in his lap. "Why is she doing this stuff without telling you?"

"If I knew that, problem solved."

Then it occurred to me that by the time Kate and I had had our discussion this had probably already been pretty much over and done.

I slowed down.

I calmed down.

"Maybe this isn't as big a deal as I think it is."

"Okay. Good." Jerry said, relieved. He'd had his arms braced against the car, and was now able to relax a little.

"Oh, I'm still going to deal with this, but I think she did this before she promised not to do this anymore."

"Ah." He said, as if he knew exactly what I was talking about.

"Maybe I can just deal with this when I get home. But I want that magazine."

"Aw, come on...I just bought this! They sell out fast lately. I'll be looking for another one all night. I'm thinking your wife has a lot to do with that..." he trailed off, looked out the window.

"I'm sure _Good Housekeeping _will tide you over. Don't worry, you'll get it back."

* * *

"Hey, baby," Kate said, without glancing up from her novel.

She was on the sofa, knees drawn up practically to her nose.

I slid the magazine, folded back to the article as Jerry had had it, over the book she was reading. She looked up at me.

I really wasn't sure what to say. "This is unacceptable," is what came out.

She dropped the book and the magazine and came around the couch to wrap her arms around my neck. "I promised I wouldn't make any future plans without you. But this was already in the works. Too late to stop it."

What I'd thought. Okay.

"Anything _else_ in the works that you forgot to mention?" Because I knew if I didn't ask, she probably wouldn't tell.

She hesitated.

Goddammit.

"Just a little thing - "

"What. What 'little thing'."

"White water rafting."

Of course.

"When?"

She cringed a little. "Tommorrow."

"No."

"But-"

"No way. You tell him no unless you want _me_ to go tell him no."

"I agreed to this! I can't back out now!"

I rubbed my eyes. "Oh, my God, Kate!" This was maddening. "I thought we'd agreed -"

"We _agreed," _she stressed making it clear she'd done no such thing, "that I would run all _future _projects by you. Although I don't see the point, since you won't accept any of them, _anyway_!"

"It depends on the -" I began but she cut me off.

"No, it _doesn't_ depend! You're going to tell me 'no' no matter what! Nevermind that this is my _career_ we're dealing with here!"

"I'd like my children to continue to have a mother!"

She got strangely calm, got this little smile on her face and stepped right into me. "You want to explain to me how _my_ job is more dangerous than _yours_?"

I had a thousand answers as to exactly why it was, how I'd been doing this forever, and how her risky behavior was new to her, but her tone and the anger and hostility in her eyes left me close to speechless, again.

"It just is."

"Because _you_ think-" she began and I cut her off.

"Because I _know," _I stressed, " that you can't handle what's really out there. You _think_ you can, and then you go and pass out in a coffee shop because my own father scared you!" My tone was more harsh than it needed to be, but I was frustrated and tired of the whole thing. "This isn't your thing, Kate - you're not made for this-"

"_Who_ says?" she challenged quickly.

"_I_ do." I shrugged. "I'm just trying to protect you. I know you like to be in control. I don't want you to end up in another situation where you aren't in control."

She just pursed her lips and looked at me.

"Like with Evan." I added, as an illustration.

She crossed her arms.

"Leave it to you to bring _that_ up." And Kate turned and left the room, shutting the bedroom door behind her.

I sighed.

Hello, sofa.

Yet again.


	32. CH32 Fooling Yourself

We spent the next morning largely silent. He said a couple of words to me, I said 'Hm', and that was pretty much it.

I breathed a sigh of relief when Maurice found an excuse to leave before noon, and I'm sure he did the same.

Fortunately, it hadn't occurred to him that it was too late in the year for rafting.

My plans were for paintball at a place up in Patterson.

I knew, in spite of my temper tantrum the night before, that he'd most likely say okay to this one. It was pretty tame. In fact, he'd probably have enjoyed going, too, and it made me wish I'd thought to ask him. It would have been a hell of a lot of fun. Although we probably would have ended up getting 'lost' in the undergrowth for quite some time...I was trying to write a story, I needed the experience, not the distraction...

At exactly two the pounding on the door told me my babysitters had arrived.

But I was very surprised to see Brian. He was breathless. I stepped back to let him in, leaving the door wide.

"Did you take the stairs?"

He nodded.

"I wanted to catch you before you left."

"Well, you caught me. My sitters aren't here yet." He was wearing jeans, sneakers and a sweatshirt from Dartmouth. "Hey! Wow! I've never seen you undressed before! _Under_-dressed." I corrected quickly, thanking God Maurice hadn't been around to hear that. He'd have given me weeks of hell for that one.

"I'm going with you." He asserted.

It took me a second to comprehend what he was saying, but before I could respond Rose was leading Sully through the door, her usual effusive self, introducing herself to Brian before I could get the chance. I noticed Sully looking him over with a slight frown, before Rose brought attention to him, then he smiled and shook hands as though he and Brian were long-lost pals reunited.

Rose took Brian's arm and started grilling him about his work life and personal life,while Sully closed the door and summoned me to the kitchen.

"Is he going with you?"

"Apparently." I shrugged.

"How well do you know this guy?"

"We've worked together for over two years. He's practically my best friend." I said. Until lately. He'd been distant, a little standoffish, and he hadn't stopped by the apartment in weeks. "Sort of." I added.

"There's something about him that bothers me."

"I think it's the fact that _you _have to look up to talk to him. That's uncommon."

He dismissed me. "You feel safe with him?"

I was taken a bit aback by that question. "_Yeah_!" I stressed. "What are you saying?"

"I don't know." He grumbled.

"_You're_ looking out for my hubby!" I wagged my finger at him. "He's not here to worry, so you're doing it for him!" He certainly wasn't worried about the paintball plan - I'd told them I was looking into fraud at antique markets in the area.

"No." He scowled.

"You kinda like him!"

He shook his head.

"You know..." I said slyly, hugging on his neck. "They say you can tell everything you need to know about a man by the way he treats his mother..." I gave him a big 'gotcha' smile, Maurice style.

"Dammit!" He exclaimed, garnering both Rose's and Brian's attention from the other room. He lowered his voice. "Why'd you have to go and do that?"

I stepped back. "If I'd have thought it would work even a little bit, I would have done it a lot sooner!"

I took his hand and pulled him back out to the living room. As we stepped through the archway, Sully said loudly, "Well, Rose, Kate has set me straight on all the child care details," earning him an odd look from her, "so we'd better let these kids get on the road. When will you be back exactly?" He was asking me, but looking at Brian.

"No later than eight o'clock, sir."

Sully laughed one of the most false laughs I'd ever heard in my life. "You don't have to call me 'sir'! This isn't a..._date_!" Leaving the "Is it?" implied.

"Oh, my God." I muttered, and Rose gave me a look. I broke away from Sully and grabbed Brian by his sleeve and dragging him toward the door and pushing him out. Rose caught up with me and Brian moved down the hall.

"Please Make sure the kids are up before 4, otherwise we'll never get them down tonight." I said loudly.

"What is his issue?" She whispered.

"I don't know. But you're about to get an earful, I'm sure."

She nodded, rolled her eyes and covered with a louder, "See you later! Have fun!" And closed the door.

I jogged down the hall to catch up. Brian was holding the elevator door for me.

"So, that's clearly your dad." He said, following me as I zipped inside and puched the (1) with my knuckle.

"Yep." I said, looking up at the descending numbers over the door, watching them flash. "Much better than my biological one."

He looked over at me with interest. This was something I'd never mentioned. I'd been calling Sully 'Dad' for so long I'd stopped feeling the need to explain long before I'd met Brian.

"So, Rose is your Mom...and he's your step-dad."

And suddenly it seemed like it would be a great deal of fun to tie his brain in knots.

"Rose is Maurice's Mom." I corrected, bit my lip and kept my eyes on the lit numbers.

He was silent for a full two minutes. We got off at the ground floor and walked out into the crisp October air.

We stood on the sidewalk and I enjoyed the bright sky and sunshine while he brooded.

"Is this some sort of weird _'Flowers In The Attic' _thing?" He finally asked hesitantly, and I burst out laughing.

"Come on," I grabbed his arm and started walking. "Where's your car."

He swung me around in the other direction. "I brought the Jeep."

"Ooh. Bonus!" I said, tugging on him to move faster.

He slowed. "Explain."

I let go of him, yelled "Onlyifyoubeatmetothe Jeep!" and started sprinting. It was only about ten or twelve cars up and I thought I had it aced, but he stuck right with me, in spite of his initial surprise.

I grabbed at the passenger side door handle but before I had a chance to discover it was locked Brian banged into me bumping me up against the Jeep. I'd underestimated him.

I pressed my cheek against the cool glass and huffed, trying to catch my breath.

He had his hands on the roof on either side of me and was leaning over a little bit, sucking air and I was glad that at least I'd made him cough a little bit until I felt his breath on me and the sound of it right near my ear and all of a sudden I realized I had another man's body pressed up against mine. Well, not _pressed_, but still too damn close, even if it _was _only Brian.

I pushed back from the Jeep and shrugged him away.

He stepped back. "Sorry." He said breathlessly. "I think it was a tie." And I didn't know if he was apologizing for being so close, or for making it a tie.

I smirked. "Then you only get _half_-truths."

He opened the passenger side door for me, and when I started to get in he put his hand on my head and did the protective cop deal, even saying, "Watch your head."

I laughed, but I smacked his hand away, telling him, "Only my husband gets to duck me into a car like that!" He gave me a quizzical look, shut the door and came around to get in the drivers' side.

"What does that mean? You go out on Friday nights and it's a matter of habit getting into the cab after dinner?" He started the Jeep and pulled away from the curb.

"No!" I laughed. "That's how we met."

He looked at me blankly.

"He arrested me."

Now he stared.

"You should be looking at the road."

He did. "It's a good thing we have a long drive -" he shook his head, "because I want to hear every detail. Starting with your Dad and his mom. Then we'll work up to the really interesting stuff."

"Well, Amanda's my daughter, but she's also my second cousin, and Mikey is my son and my nephew at the same time-"

"All right. Enough."

"As for Rose and Maurice, Sully and me, I won't even go there, but there's an eight year old kid in a mental institution upstate that - "

"Kate," he said, "Shut up."

I looked over at him.

"I just wanted you to tell me the story."

I looked out the side window. "I tell stories every day. I tell _you_ stories evey day. But they're _other_ people's stories. I don't need to tell my own." The one person who mattered already knew them all.

He glanced back over at me. "What if I want to hear them?"

"Doesn't matter." I rested my head back on the seat. "I don't want to tell them. Why do you need to know anyway?"

"I just want to know what makes you tick, Kate - why you are what you are - "

"That shouldn't matter as long as I get that assignment on your desk at the appointed time."

"But I want to know why you got it there, and why that particular assignment. And I thought we were friends, you're turning this into a strictly 'work' thing..."

"I thought we were friends, too. Where've you been the last month? I haven't seen or heard from you and when I'm in the office all of a sudden you're treating me like the guy who drops off the FedEx!"

"I...ah, got a complaint."

"A complaint."

"That I've been giving you preferential treatment."

"Well, you _have_. That complaint certainly wasn't from _me_." I tried to joke.

"So, I've been trying to back off."

"Since _when_ do you care? People have been talking about us behind our backs for years! Calling us lovers. You know, speaking of _Flowers In The Attic_, there was even one guy who had this theory that we were brother and sister and didn't want to admit it -"

"Kate, it's not about that - this is serious."

I was silent for a moment then swung around to glare at him intently. "Then why are you here? Why are you going with me? This certainly _feels_ like preferential treatment, since I absolutely can do this on my own...what is this 'whoever it is person' going to say about_ this_?"

He interrupted. "I'm here to make sure you get home in one piece. That nothing happens to you. That's more important than some complaint."

I sat back and crossed my arms, frustrated. "Well, that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard! I jumped out of a plane! I got to see the NYPD clean up _so_ many - well, and where were you then?"

"That was before he knew you were doing this stuff." Brian said quietly.

I looked at him in disbelief, blended with, I think, a little disgust. "You're here because of _Maurice_? For _paintball_? What do you think I'm going to shoot my _eye_ out?"

"No, but if you do, I'm dead. I need to make sure it doesn't happen."

I made a scoffing sound.

He was silent.

"So you're telling me that you're more concerned about my husband than an indefensible accusation at work?"

"Indefensible?"

"Oh, come on. Even if everyone tells a flat, emotionless, unadulterated true story, you're still toast! But you'll get a slap on the wrist and it'll be fine - they'll just check to make sure you assign things ...more _evenly_..."

"And if I bring you home with even one bruise they find me in the Hudson on Thursday."

"Oh, please."

More silence. That was unlike him.

I studied his profile. "He threatened you?" I asked quietly, not believing it, but at the same time almost believing it.

He cleared his throat. "He made it plain that it was unacceptable for you to be doing these things. Risking yourself."

It was his use of the word 'unacceptable' that caught my attention. If only he'd said anything else...That one word ended up clawing at me for the remainder of the day.

"I'll talk to him." I promised, wondering what the hell I would even say. "But tell me about this complaint. Can you tell me who it is? Can I talk to her, maybe smooth things over? Maybe you can give me something to promise her..."

"It was a male. An anonymous male."

"A _guy_? Is upset about the assignments - ah-" I was speechless. I ran through all the guys I worked with and couldn't think of one who I could ever dream would make an anonymous complaint. Most of them had personalities similar to Brian's and I couldn't imagine one of them going behind his back without first going to see him face-to-face.

"Are you sure?"

"What I was told." He shrugged.

"You know - this is a bad idea. Turn around, take me home. I need to think."

He glanced over at me, slowing the Jeep, moving into the right lane. "Are you sure? It's all set up."

I sighed and rubbed my hand across my forehead.

Would it make a difference in things if I went? No. Maurice would still be pissed.

Would it make a difference if I didn't go? Yes. No story.

"Okay." I said, resignedly. "Go. Go."

"You're sure?"

"Go!"


End file.
